"And, oh, Hubert dear, do you remember the organ? And how long it took us to save up the sixty dollars? And how I cried half the night for pure joy when you brought it home on the ox-sled? And how I used to play in the evenings, and the Sheridans were there, and the men would come and listen, and their big voices would join in the singing, and how sometimes a man would draw a rough sleeve across his eyes when he thought no one was looking--do you remember?" "Yes, yes, yes--of course I remember!" The lumberman's voice was suspiciously gruff. "Seems almost like another world." His wife suddenly stretched her arms towards the open fire: "Oh, Hubert, I want to go back!" "What?" "Yes, dear, just once more." Appleton saw the tears in her eyes. "I want to smell the fragrance of the pine woods--and sit on the thick pine-needles--and cook over an open fire! Bacon and trout and coffee--yes, and no _real cream_, either!" She smiled at him through her tears. "Canned milk, and maybe some venison steaks. "I want to borrow your pocket-knife and dig out spruce gum and chew it, with the little bits of bark in it," she went on, "and I won't promise not to 'pry,' with it, either. I hope I do break the blade! Do you remember that day, and how mad you were? "I want to see the men crowd into the grub-shack, and hear the sound of the axes and saws and the rattle of chains and the crashing of big trees. I want to see the logs on the rollways; and, Hubert, you won't think I'm awful, will you, dear, but I want to--just once more in my life--I want to hear a big man _swear_!" H. D. Appleton stared at his wife in blank amazement, and then, throwing back his head, roared with laughter. "Well, you sure will, little girl, if you try to slip any canned milk into _my_ coffee!" His wife regarded him gravely. "I am not joking, Hubert. Oh, can't you see? Just once more I _must_ have a taste of the old, hard, happy days--can't I?" "Why, Margaret, you don't really mean that you want to go into the woods--seriously?" "Yes, I do mean just exactly that--seriously!" Appleton tugged at his mustache and puckered his forehead. "We might make up a party," he mused. "I'll speak to Ross in the morning." The little gray-haired woman stepped lightly around the table, and, seating herself on his lap, captured his big fingers in her own. "How many times must I tell you not to pull your mustache, dear? Now, listen; I have a plan. There will be Mary Sheridan and Ross and Ethel Manton--you know she promised us a visit this fall, and I expect her any day now. A trip into the woods will do her a world of good, poor girl. She has had lots of responsibility thrust upon her since brother Fred died, with young Charlie to look out for, and the care of that big house.