CHAPTER XXIV.
"Awake! You dreamers, wake!" Frona was out of her sleeping-furs at Del Bishop's first call; but ere she had slipped a skirt on and bare feet into moccasins, her father, beyond the blanket-curtain, had thrown back the flaps of the tent and stumbled out.
The river was up.

In the chill gray light she could see the ice rubbing softly against the very crest of the bank; it even topped it in places, and the huge cakes worked inshore many feet.

A hundred yards out the white field merged into the dim dawn and the gray sky.

Subdued splits and splutters whispered from out the obscureness, and a gentle grinding could be heard.
"When will it go ?" she asked of Del.
"Not a bit too lively for us.

See there!" He pointed with his toe to the water lapping out from under the ice and creeping greedily towards them.