hear from his dear father's lips, how differently would they have
affected him! Calumet never saw Mr. Kingston again. In returning alone to
the depot from a distant shanty, he was caught in a fierce and sudden
snowstorm. The little-travelled road through the forest was soon
obliterated. Blinded and bewildered by the pitiless storm beating in
their faces, both man and beast lost their way, and, wandering about
until all strength was spent, lay down to die in the drifts that quickly
hid their bodies from sight. It was many days before they were found,
lying together, close wrapped in their winding-sheet of snow.

Mrs. Kingston bore the dreadful trial with the fortitude and submissive
grace that only a serene and unmurmuring faith can give. Frank was more
demonstrative in his grief, and disposed to rebel against so cruel a
calamity. But his mother calmed and inspired him, and when the first
numbing force of the blow had passed away, they took counsel together as
to the future. This was dark and uncertain enough. All that was left to
them was the little cottage in which they lived. Mr. Kingston's salary
had not been large, and only by careful management had the house been
secured. Of kind and sympathizing friends there was no lack, but they
were mostly people in moderate circumstances, like themselves, from whom
nothing more than sympathy could be expected.

There was no alternative but that Frank should begin at once to earn his
own living, and thus the conversation came about with which this chapter
began, and which brought forth the reply from Frank that evidently gave
his mother deep concern.