--f To CARIBOO AND BACK }--

keep hope alive and he stayed. The hut was
built by degrees and he managed to keep him-
self fed with the fish he caught in the stream,
and an occasional grouse or rabbit snared in a
simple trap of wood and string.

Fred Wilfer told this history with Betty in
his arms, sitting on his knee, nodding her
golden head and finally falling asleep on his
shoulder.

“Jimmie,” said he at the end. “I wonder I
didn’t know you, Jimmie, for I can see in you
the same little fellow who used to come to the
house in the Park with his mother and play
with Betty on the lawn! Well, Jimmie, what
I started to say was—please fetch me the little
leather bag you’ll find behind the stones of the
fireplace.”

When it was brought to him he carefully
emptied the contents into the palm of his hand
and then showed them a pile of yellow dust
with a few small nuggets scattered through it.

“No more than that, after two months
washing dirt, till the snow and my sickness
stopped me a week or so ago. I’ve lost track
of time. Then the fish wouldn’t bite for me,
or I couldn’t hold the rod, and I had to start

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