little she spoke to him. Before he could see fully what was in her
eyes she turned suddenly to the wall, took down his coat, and hung
it over the window. When he saw her face again it was gloriously
flushed. She pointed to the candles.

"No danger of that," he said, comprehending her. "They won't throw
any javelins in this storm. Listen!"

It was the wolves again. In a moment their cry was drowned in a
crash of the storm that smote the cabin like a huge hand. Again it
was wailing over them in a wild orgy of almost human tumult. He
could see its swift effect on Celie in spite of her splendid
courage. It was not like the surge of mere wind or the roll of
thunder. Again he was inspired by thought of his pocket atlas, and
opened it at the large insert map of Canada.

"I'll show you why the wind does that," he explained to her,
drawing her to the table and. spreading out the map. "See, here is
the cabin." He made a little black dot with her pencil, and
turning to the four walls of Bram's stronghold made her understand
what it meant. "And there's the big Barren," he went on, tracing
it out with the pencil-point. "Up here, you see, is the Arctic
Ocean, and away over there the Roes Welcome and Hudson's Bay.
That's where the storm starts, and when it gets out on the Barren,
without a tree or a rock to break its way for five hundred miles--
"

He told of the twisting air-currents there and how the storm-
clouds sometimes swept so low that they almost smothered one. For
a few moments he did not look at Celie or he would have seen