They were already living on carefully measured out rations and Felton resolved to reduce his own portion below the meagre amount he had already given himself. "Keep up heart, we'll help you--Good-bye!" So ended this talk with Worthy and Long. The days dragged. The wood chopping, the fire keeping, the story telling, to beguile the weary hours, went on. Once or twice a day came a message of good hope from Sharon. The rescuers were off, and in the shortest time possible would reach the beleagured couple. One morning there came a sharp, insistent ringing of the bell which opened the door of the world to these two who were making their one daily meal from scraps of dried meat, and almost the very last of the treasured rations were in their hands at the moment. "Hello!" called Felton at the 'phone in a moment. "Hello! That you Felton?" "Yes. This isn't Tom, is it?" "Yes--of course, Tom, just in from Parson's--been hearing about you. We left in a hurry--mighty lucky or you wouldn't have had the telephone connected and ready for business." It was one of the men from Parson's camp. "They've reached Sharon!" said Felton to Catherine. "Say!" came Tom's voice over the wire, "You've found the stores, haven't you?" "What stores?" replied Felton--"We found a little dried venison, and some potatoes in the cupboard, but they are all gone." "Darn a tenderfoot anyway!" shouted Tom--then recollecting himself he went on. "Take up a board there over by the table. Where do you expect to find provisions if not in the cellar?" Then he muttered to himself. "They're in luck. It's just a providence! We thought of packing that grub down with us." Down went the hand of Felton, and away he sprung to the square pine table near the door. Taking up a loose board he gazed exantantly into what Tom called the cellar, a square hole under the floor, filled with boxes and kegs and tin cans of meat and vegetables and biscuits. "Catherine!" he called, but Catherine was already there, kneeling by him, her arms around his neck. She was crying, the brave girl, and Felton was conscious of a sneaking desire to follow her example. "But won't we feast?" at last Catherine spoke. And then she ran to the telephone to send her own special message to Tom, and to the whole Parsons outfit, and it is certain that there never went over the wires a more grateful and gracious thankfulness than was expressed by Catherine and Felton upon this occasion. And so, with renewed life, the two awaited events, and one day, toward noon, they heard through the stillness a faint sound, a sort of metallic clink, and a little later they were sure of the welcome ring of men's voices. Felton fired off the loaded rifle which hung over the cabin door at Parson's and soon came an answering volley of pistol shots and a faintly heard muffled "hurrah."