of the island, with moss in your hair and wind in your eyes, and sun and
stars mixed in your face." He looked at her with delighted admiration.
"Here, Sangree, take these twelve, there's a good fellow, they're the
biggest; and we'll have 'em in butter in less time than you can say
Baltic island!"

I watched the Canadian as he slowly moved off to the cleaning pail. His
eyes were drinking in the girl's beauty, and a wave of passionate,
almost feverish, joy passed over his face, expressive of the ecstasy of
true worship more than anything else. Perhaps he was thinking that he
still had three weeks to come with that vision always before his eyes;
perhaps he was thinking of his dreams in the night. I cannot say. But I
noticed the curious mingling of yearning and happiness in his eyes, and
the strength of the impression touched my curiosity. Something in his
face held my gaze for a second, something to do with its intensity. That
so timid, so gentle a personality should conceal so virile a passion
almost seemed to require explanation.

But the impression was momentary, for that first breakfast in Camp
permitted no divided attentions, and I dare swear that the porridge, the
tea, the Swedish "flatbread," and the fried fish flavoured with points
of frizzled bacon, were better than any meal eaten elsewhere that day in
the whole world.

The first clear day in a new camp is always a furiously busy one, and we
soon dropped into the routine upon which in large measure the real
comfort of every one depends. About the cooking-fire, greatly improved
with stones from the shore, we built a high stockade consisting of
upright poles thickly twined with branches, the roof lined with moss and
lichen and weighted with rocks, and round the interior we made low