Gazing critically at Gunn, he said thoughtfully: "I think not; I've even known men killed for saying less than that," and turned to the clergyman.

"You are quite right; some of the higher passes are very cold.

I was lost in one of them in '56 with a small party.

We were seventy miles from any settlement, we had had nothing to eat for thirty-six hours; our campfire, melting the snow, sank twelve feet below the surface." The circle closed eagerly around him, Marie, Kitty, and Cousin Jane pressing forward with excited faces; even the clergyman assumed an expression of profound interest.

"A man by the name of Thompson, I think," continued Uncle Sylvester, thoughtfully gazing at the fire, "was frozen a few yards away.