THE SNOWHOUSE BABY There had been a film of glass-clear ice that morning all round the shores of Silverwater.

It had melted as the sun climbed high into the bland October blue; but in the air remained, even at midday, a crispness, a tang, which set the Child's blood tingling.

He drew the spicy breath of the spruce forests as deep as possible into his little lungs, and outraged the solemn silences with shouts and squeals of sheer ecstasy, which Uncle Andy had not the heart to suppress.

Then, all at once, he remembered what the thrilling air, the gold and scarlet of the trees, the fairy ice films, the whirr of the partridge wings, and the sharp cries of the bluejays all meant.

It meant that soon Uncle Andy would take him back to town, the cabin under the hemlock would be boarded up.