tell you how that nymph caught me once and nearly strangled me with
her cold, wet arms. I was trying to save--you'll laugh when I tell
you about it--a baby bear."

Pete and Bella made room for them silently about the hearth where
Pete had already built up a fire. Sylvie groped her way to the throne
from which the other woman slipped half furtively and so noiselessly
that Sylvie never guessed her usurpation.

"Hugh is going to tell us a story," she said, and rested her head
back so that her small chin pointed out and her slim neck was drawn
up--"a wonderful story about the river and a bear. I hope it's a baby
bear, Hugh, for you know how I feel about bears. I honestly think
that being so afraid of seeing them is what made me blind!" She gave
her small, shy laugh. "I thought I saw them everywhere I looked that
day and night. It seems so long ago now, and yet it is not so many
weeks. I can still hear Hugh's voice calling out to me across the
snow. And now," she said, "the snow's all gone and none of you are
strangers any more, and--Go on with your story, Hugh."

Pete added a log to the fire so that the flames stretched up bravely
and made a great fan of light against which they all seemed painted
like ornamental figures, Hugh lounging along the rug to make a
striking central figure. Bella was drawn up rigidly on a stiff, hard
chair; she hemmed a long, coarse towel with her blunt, work-roughened
fingers.

Pete sat opposite Sylvie on the floor, his back against the corner
of the fireplace, his knees drawn up in his hands, his head a little
bent. He too--from under his long level brows--looked for the most