All this had been of intense interest to Marion. She listened to the conversation, and studied the faces of the two men with fast-beating heart. But when they at length clasped hands, she sprang forward and threw her arms about her father. Her eyes were moist with tears, but her face was radiant with joy.
“Oh, I am so glad, so glad!” she murmured. “Now we can all be happy.”
“Why, yes, so we can,” Hugo replied, his heart lighter than it had been for years. “And something to eat will make us happier still.”
“Supper all ready on the dining car,” was the startling and unexpected announcement from Rolfe, who had been busy preparing the meal. His face was beaming with satisfaction as the three turned toward him. “Seats for two right here,” he continued, motioning to a blanket spread out upon some fir boughs. “Please walk this way.”
“You are to be congratulated, Mr. Rolfe,” Marion smilingly told him. “You have served a wonderful supper.”
“It certainly is, Miss Brisbane. Fried moose steak, with things we call ‘potatoes,’ bread, hardtack, biscuits, jam, and tea. Say, this is a banquet after what we’ve been eating.”
“Poetry, eh, Tom?” the sergeant queried. “Those are the best words I’ve heard you utter in a long time. That’s the kind of poetry which appeals to me.”
“Oh, that’s nothing to what I can do, sergeant. Just listen to this:
“Give me, oh, give me, just as I am,
Potatoes and moose steak, hardtack and jam.
“Doesn’t that strike you as a masterpiece? Let me
