the pieces of the broken fiddle loosely tied in a sack, precious relics of a joy that was past. Carefully he locked the box and returned the key, but the books he folded in the strip of gingham and carried away with him.

“I’ll be back to-night or in the morning. If she doesn’t return, send Hoyle for me. You mustn’t be too long alone. Shall I mend the fire?”

He threw on another log, then lifted her a little and brought her a glass of cool water, and climbed back to his cabin, walking lightly and swiftly.