with their dogs. Francois set of alone, on snow-shoes, pulling his
blankets and provisions on a toboggan." No one had uttered a word to
hasten or check the speaker. They listened as to him whose story's
end stalks into view, before the eyes but darkly veiled, like a
figure drawing near who hides his face.

"You will remember the weather a week before Christmas-the heavy
snow that fell, and after it the nor'west gale. It happened that was
then in the great burnt lands, where the fine snow drives and drifts
so terribly. In such a place the best of men have little chance when
it is very cold and the storm lasts. And, if you recall it, the
nor'wester was blowing for three days on end, stiff enough-to flay
you."

"Yes, and then?"

The narrative he had framed did not carry him further, or perhaps he
could not bring himself to speak the final words, for it was some
time before the low-voiced answer came-" He went astray ..."

Those who have passed their lives within the shadow of the Canadian
forests know the meaning but too well. The daring youths to whom
this evil fortune happens in the woods, who go astray-are lost-but
seldom return. Sometimes a search-party finds their bodies in the
spring, after the melting of the snows. In Quebec, and above all in
the far regions of the north, the very word, ecarte, has taken on a
new and sinister import, from the peril overhanging him who loses
his way, for a short day only, in that limitless forest.

"He went astray ... The storm caught him in the burnt country and