THE THAW When Festing went out at daybreak the air was soft, and drops from the wet pines fell into the honeycombed snow.

The surface was turning to slush, but he knew it would wear down into a slippery mass on which the logs would run.

This was fortunate, because he doubted if labor could be usefully employed upon the stones just yet.

For a few moments he pondered the matter and listened to the river's turmoil.

The deep, booming note was sharper, water splashed noisily in the gullies, and there was a ringing crash as an ice-floe broke upon a rock.