He pulled himself together quickly.

"I was dreaming of a face, Mrs.Becker, It seems strange that this should happen--away up here, in this way.

The face that I dreamed of is a thousand miles from here, and it is wonderfully like yours." The colonel was laughing at him when he turned.

He was a little man, as straight as a gun rod, pale of face except for his nose, which was nipped red by the cold, and with a pointed beard as white as the snow under his feet.

That part of his countenance which exposed itself above the top of his great fur coat and below his thick beaver cap was alive with good cheer, notwithstanding its pallor.
"Glad you're good humored about it, Steele," he cried with an immediate tone of comradeship.