burned, the stumps still standing and the charred trunks lying all askew
as they fell. The unlovely confusion of the uncompleted task was
somewhat concealed by a rank growth of weeds and grass. This
half-hearted attack upon the forest had let the sunlight in. It blazed
full upon a cabin in the center of the clearing, a square, squat
structure of logs with a roof of poles and dirt. A door and a window
faced the creek, a window of tiny panes, a door that stood partly open,
sagging forlornly upon its hinges.

"Is _that_ the house?" Thompson asked. It seemed to him scarcely
credible. He suspected his guides, as he had before suspected them, of
some rude jest at his expense.

"Dat's heem," Breyette answered. "Let's tak' leetle more close look on
heem."

Thompson did not miss the faint note of commiseration in the
half-breed's voice. It stung him a little, nearly made him disregard the
spirit of abnegation he had been taught was a Christian's duty in his
Master's service. He closed his lips on an impulsive protest against
that barren unlovely spot, and stiffened his shoulders.

"I understand it has not been occupied for some time," he said as they
moved toward the cabin.

But even forewarned as he was his heart sank a few degrees nearer to his
square-toed shoes when he stepped over the threshold and looked about.
Little, forgotten things recurred to him, matters touched upon lightly,
airily, by the deacons and elders of the Board of Missions when his
appointment was made. He recalled hearing of a letter in which his