The life at the homestead seemed a thing of the past, part of some other state of existence, so intense a hold had the wilderness upon Dick's mind. But the thought of Stephanie was real and living, the only point of pain in his present lot; and this pain he put aside as much as possible, together with all worry as to the future. "I made my choice," he said to himself, "and there's an end of it. I know it was pretty hard on Steenie, but here I am, and what's the use of worrying?" Minds of his type are convinced of error only by stern measures, and Dick showed a great deal of argumentative skill in assuring himself that he had been perfectly justified in escaping from the bonds of humdrum toil which had grown so unendurable. He knew that he had proved himself weak and lacking in gratitude, nevertheless; but the knowledge had not yet touched his heart to any keener sense of wrong-doing. Straight northwestward they went, through gradually changing country, and all the subtle passage of the weeks was heralded to them by new flowers, new streams, new lands of wonder. The wild strawberries ripened, and the last violets died. The raspberry canes were heavy with fruit, and the spots where they grew best were much favoured by brown bears, big and little. White lilies shone upon the pools and the still reaches of the small rivers. And still, through all the shifting moods of the year, they hurried on, never resting, never turning aside, but always keeping up the same unvarying rate of speed. Where was Peter Many-Names going? Dick did not know, and did not care. He had chosen his way of life, and now gave himself up to its delight. He only knew that the wilds he loved were very fair, that the weather was almost unbroken in its warm sunniness, that food was easily come by, and that all things, great and small, made for happiness. He seemed to be one with the clear blue Canadian skies, with the silver stars, with the free, beautiful things of stream and forest, with the very blades of grass beneath his moccasined feet. The little owls, the great wood-peckers, the tiny songsters of the reeds and bushes, he looked upon as his brethren. He felt no return of the desolate ache at his heart he had experienced on the night of Peter's struggle with the lynx. His was that joyous fellowship with nature that knows no weariness, and he troubled himself as little as possible about Stephanie. Not yet had his awakening come. Straight northwest they went, through all the brief splendour of the northern summer; and the weeks passed in golden dreams of freedom and of beauty. And thus the year drew slowly, inevitably, to its close. CHAPTER IX. On the Prairie.