MISS DERINGHAM MAKES FRIENDS The Homeric supper was over, and Miss Deringham, who, sitting next to Alton at the head of the long table, had watched the stalwart axeman feed with sensations divided between disgust and wonder, was talking to Seaforth on the verandah, when her father sat by a window of the room his kinsman called his own.

There were survey maps, tassels of oats, and a great Wapiti head upon the wall, while Alton himself lay almost full length in a deerhide chair.

The window was open wide, and the vista of lake, pine-shrouded hillside, and snow, framed by its log casing, steeped in nocturnal harmonies of silver and blue.

Out of the stillness came the scent of balsam, and the sighing of a little breeze amidst the pines.
Deringham held a good cigar, and there was a cup of coffee beside him, while he was not wholly sorry that they sat in darkness.

He had realized that Alton of Somasco was by no means a fool, and waited his questions with some anxiety.