The First Rain The weary weeks of winter passed slowly away.

April came in with long bright days and abundant sunshine, but still the frost-king held sway, and all the earth was snowbound, the rivers were mute, and the waterfalls existed only in name.

The men in the store were saying one night that some Indians had got through from Thunder Bay by way of the Albany River with mails; but as this meant about four hundred miles on snowshoes, Katherine regarded it only as a piece of winter fiction, and thought no more about it.

There were fifty miles of hill and valley between Roaring Water Portage and the Albany River at its nearest point; but this was undoubtedly the nearest trail to civilization and the railway, and when the waters were open it was easier than any other route.
Two days later Katherine was in the cellar overhauling the stores, which were getting so shrunken that she was wondering how they could possibly be made to hold out, when she heard Phil calling, and, going up the ladder, found a tired-looking Indian standing there, who had a bag of mails strapped on to his back.
"Have you really come from Thunder Bay ?" she asked in a surprised tone.
"Yah," he responded promptly, and, dislodging the burden from his back, showed her the name Maxokama on the official seals of the bag.
Her father being too unwell to leave his bed that day, Katherine received the mail as his deputy, and, giving the Indian a receipt for it, proceeded to open the bag and sort the letters it contained.

There were only a few, and as they were mostly directed to those in authority in the fishing fleet, and to Astor M'Kree, Katherine was quick in coming to the conclusion that it was Mr.
Selincourt who had arranged with the post office for the forwarding of this particular mail.