He was so near to the rock-lined beach that he could hear the soft throat-cries of the moose-birds.

And what he saw, so far as his eyes could see in all directions, was "God's Country"-- a glory of colour that was like a great master painting.

The birch had turned to red and gold.

From out of the rocks rose trees that were great crimson splashes of mountain-ash berries framed against the dark lustre of balsam and cedar and spruce.
Without reason, Philip was listening again to the quiet lifeless words of Jasper, the factor over at Fond du Lac, as he described the day when he and his young wife first came up through the wonderland of the North.

"No country is God's Country without a woman!" He found the words running in an unpleasant monotone through his brain.