THE LAUKENTIDES PAEK 



the winter mails were carried sixty 

 miles over the snow to the Lake St. John 

 settlements. The regular postman One- 

 sime Savard fell sick, and Johnny, as 

 stout a walker as ever slipped on a snow- 

 shoe, took his place. Long before day- 

 light, with pack on back, he left the last 

 habitation behind him; by noon, with 

 half his journey done, he was nearly 

 thirty miles from the nearest human be- 

 ing. Has the reader ever been five miles, 

 one mile, half-a-mile, from his next 

 neighbour? A horror of loneliness and 

 silence fell upon him, and he fled back 

 in his own tracks for twenty miles to a 

 little cabane built by himself for trap- 

 ping where he rested, and cooked a pan- 

 cake of flour and pork. Heartened by 

 the food, and fearful of ridicule should 

 he return without accomplishing his 

 errand, Johnny steeled his heart, tight- 

 ened his belt, and turning north again 

 covered his second fifty miles without 

 halt. 



134 



