"I secured it while I was away; I have wanted it for the last five years. The Doctor has promised us six weeks, and the camp will be more attractive"--he looked at Mrs. Macleod--"and keep us longer, if you and Miss Farrell will be my guests, and make a home for us in the wilderness. Will you?" For once in her life Mrs. Macleod did not balk at this direct question involving a decision. I record it to her credit. "And you?" He turned to me without apparent eagerness, but I caught the flash of pleasure in his eyes when I answered promptly, with enthusiasm: "It will be something to dream of till it is a reality. I 'll begin making my camp outfit to-morrow; and André père shall teach me to fish and paddle a canoe; his son shall teach me woodcraft, and some Montagnais squaw shall show me how to weave baskets. In those same baskets I will gather the mountain berries for such of the family as may crave them, and--and that wilderness shall be made to blossom like the rose and prove to us, at least, a land flowing with milk and honey." Mr. Ewart's question about a "home in the wilderness" was the motor power for my flight. "Amen and amen," cried the Doctor, approving of my soaring. "We 'll return to the Arcadia of the woodsman's simple life." "Humph!" said Cale. "You'd better add all them contraptions of veils, an' nettin's, and smudge kettles, an' ointments, an' forty kinds of made-up bait--so made-up thet I 've seen a trout, a three pounder, wink at me when he see some of it and wag away up stream as sassy as you please--an' a gross of joss sticks. By George, I 've seen mosquitoes as big as mice--" "Cale," I made protest; "you spoil all." "Better wait till you are there, Marcia, before you rhapsodize any more; you did it well, though, I 'll admit," said Jamie, with his most patronizing air. "So did you rhapsodize over Scotland," I retorted; "and I 'll rhapsodize if I never go; and you 're not to quench my enthusiasm with any of your Scotch mist that I am told is nothing less than a downpour." "By the way, when is your birthday, Marcia?" said the Doctor, carefully, oh, so carefully, knocking the ash from his cigar into the fireplace. The act was so very cautious that it betrayed to me his restrained expectancy of my answer! "I have an idea it's the last of June." How light I was of heart in answering him, in giving him the clew he was seeking as I would have made him a gift, fully, freely--for what was it to me now, whether he knew or not? "Next December, when the north wind blows over the Canada snows, you may remember me, if you will." "What date?" I waited intentionally for him to ask that question. I felt that Cale was holding his breath; but I did n't care, and replied without hesitation: "The third--twenty-seven years. What an age!" They laughed at me, one and all, the Doctor perhaps a little more heartily than the others. After that he sat, with one exception, silent; but Jamie spoke half impatiently: