From there he caught the gray curl of smoke against the sky from
one of two log cabins side by side at the top of the embankment, and
he almost ran toward them. Mary might think they were late at the
traps, and be out doing the feeding, and it would be cold for a woman.
On reaching his own door, he dropped the rat bags inside, and then
hurried to the yard of the other cabin. He gathered a big load of
wood in his arms, and stamping the snow from his feet, called
"Open!" at the door. Dannie stepped inside and filled the empty box.
With smiling eyes he turned to Mary, as he brushed the snow and
moss from his sleeves.
"Nothing but luck to-day," he said. "Jimmy took elivin fine skins
frae his traps before he started to town, and I got five more that
are his, and I hae eight o' my own."
Mary looked such a dream to Dannie, standing there all pink and
warm and tidy in her fresh blue dress, that he blinked and smiled,
half bewildered.
"What did Jimmy go to town for?" she asked.
"Whatever it was ye wanted," answered Dannie.
"What was it I wanted?" persisted Mary.
"He dinna tell me," replied Dannie, and the smile wavered.
"Me, either," said Mary, and she stooped and picked up her sewing.
Dannie went out and gently closed the door. He stood for a second
on the step, forcing himself to take an inventory of the work.
There were the chickens to feed, and the cows to milk, feed, and
water. Both the teams must be fed and bedded, a fire in his own
house made, and two dozen rats skinned, and the skins put to
stretch and cure.
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