tunic, Mrs. Spear turned to me and beamed:

"Doesn't Athabasca look radiantly beautiful?"

"Indeed she does!" I blushed.

"And what a delightful party this is . . . but there's just one thing
lacking . . . to make it perfect."

"What's that?" I enquired.

"A wedding . . . my dear." Then, after a long pause, during which she
seemed to be staring at me--but I didn't dare look--she impatiently
tossed her head and exclaimed:

"My . . . but some men are deathly slow!"

"Indeed they are," I agreed.

About four o'clock in the morning the music died down, then, after much
hand-shaking, the company dispersed in various directions over the
moonlit snow; some to their near-by lodges, some to the log shacks in
the now-deserted Indian village, and others to their distant hunting
grounds. It must have been nearly five o'clock before the ladies in
the Factor's house went upstairs, and the men lay down upon caribou,
bear, and buffalo skins on the otherwise bare floor of the living room.
It was late next morning when we arose, yet already the policemen had
vanished--they had again set out on their long northern patrol.

At breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Spear invited me to return and spend the