"It is a conspiracy, poor La Bijou, a conspiracy!" He caressed La Bijou like it were a horse, for so he had christened the glistening Peterborough canoe.
Frona and St.Vincent laughed and preached him the gospel of patience, which he proceeded to tuck away into the deepest abysses of perdition till interrupted by Jacob Welse.
"Look, Courbertin! Over there, south of the bluff.

Do you make out anything?
Moving ?" "Yes; a dog." "It moves too slowly for a dog.

Frona, get the glasses." Courbertin and St.Vincent sprang after them, but the latter knew their abiding-place and returned triumphant.

Jacob Welse put the binoculars to his eyes and gazed steadily across the river.

It was a sheer mile from the island to the farther bank, and the sunglare on the ice was a sore task to the vision.
"It is a man." He passed the glasses to the Baron and strained absently with his naked eyes.