The blacksmith's shop was entirely buried under a huge drift; only one half of the cook-shack roof was visible, and the bunk-house was buried to the eaves. A twenty-foot drift cut off the view of the stables, and the whole crew was busy digging paths and breaking out skidways. The storm had ceased as suddenly as it had come, and the sun shone with dazzling whiteness upon the mystic, snow-buried world. In the office she found Bill fully dressed, propped against his pillows, a villainous black pipe between his lips, reading. He laid aside his book and pipe and stretched his arms toward her. She crossed, blushing, to his side, and for a long time sat with her head resting upon his shoulder, while his great arms held her close against his beating heart. And under the spell of his presence and his gently murmured words of love, the disquieting fear vanished, and she knew that he was all hers. And she laughed at her fear, and drove it from her in the foolish belief that it could never return. "Dear," she said later when their conversation assumed an intelligible form, "you must send those bonds back by Uncle Appleton. Just think--your father thinks you _stole_ them!" The man smiled: "Yes, poor old dad. It must be kind of rough on him to think his son is a thief. He was sore that morning, and so was I, and we didn't part the best of friends. But I would rather return the bonds myself. Darling, we will take them to him, you and I, next summer, when we go back to the old town." "Go back!" exclaimed the girl. "Sure. When we go back on our honeymoon. Now that I have you I am never, never going to let you go, and when next you see the big burg, you will be Mrs. Bill Carmody." He kissed the serious blue eyes that looked up into his. "But, dear, we are coming back here?" "Back here!" he exclaimed in surprise. "You! Back here! In the woods!" The girl nodded. "I love the woods; I will always love them. It was in the woods that you found _yourself_ and your place among men. And it was in the woods that I found you--the _real_ you--the _you_ I have always loved!" "But, dear heart, it is a rough life up here. It is new to you now, and you are enchanted; but there is so much you would miss. I have to come back, of course--will have to for several years to come. We could have a house in Minneapolis, and Charlie could go to school." "What! And only have you for five or six months in the year? No, _sir_! Charlie could live with Uncle and Aunt Margaret and go to school, but you and I are coming into the woods. "Aunt Margaret lived in camps for years when she was first married, and they were as poor as church mice. She told me all about it. Of course, there is hard work; but it is all so big, and grand, and free, and there is lots of fun, too, and you will have to teach me to shoot and walk on snowshoes and fish through holes cut in the ice.