THE CARING FOR THE BOY 



WHATEVER Rod s intentions might have 

 been about following on after Fra^ois, 

 their carrying out was utterly destroyed by the 

 terrific blizzard which started that night. All the 

 next day, and the night after, no living thing 

 stirred from its nest or burrow. 



Whisky-Jack cowered in the lee-side shelter 

 of the roof; and inside, Roderick listened to the 

 howling and sobbing of the storm-demons that 

 rocked the rude Shack like a cradle. Even 

 through the moss-chinked, mud-plastered log- 

 cracks the fine steel-dust of the ice-hard snow 

 drove. It was like emery in its minute fierceness. 



Spirit voices called to Rod from the moan 

 ing Forest ; his imagination pictured the weird 

 storm-sounds as the voice of his friend plead 

 ing &quot;for help. Many times he threw the big 

 wooden door-bar from its place, and peered 

 out into the dark as the angry wind pushed 

 against him with fretful swing. Each time he 

 was sure he heard his Comrade s voice, or the 



