solitary man on the shore, some two hundred yards from a rude cabin, was digging a grave.

That night it froze again steadily; the slough was covered with a gradually increasing thickness of ice, and its surface was deathly still. But all night a light gleamed from the cabin window, and a sound of hammering echoed dully. The man was making a coffin.

And all the next day the dull glint of the ice remained on the slough it did not "give" in the warmth of the sun, and the musquash houses stood silent and lonely above the surface; the tenants were housed within for the winter. But four men issued staggering from the cabin, bearing the coffin to the grave. There were no mourners, no followers; but one of the bearers was the owner of the cabin, and the man who had dug the grave.

That night it froze again, and he sat alone in his cabin. At the age of forty-one he had no relation living-that he was aware of—no children, and his wife was dead.

He had buried her that day, and that is why he sat alone; not that he regretted the fact. Clem Latham was as good a man as any along the borders of Minnesota in that section; but, to tell the truth, his wife had been no favourite there, and no helpmeet to Clem himself. But what she had been mattered little now, for she was dead, and (as we have seen) there had been no great demonstration at the funeral. She had not been a good woman; but let that pass. It is a homely epitaph.

But for all that Latham felt lonely. He remembered how he had come there, as a pioneer, fifteen years ago; his wife was young and pretty then, and he was proud of her. He remembered how he had left his birthplace in Eastern Michigan, full of hope, to begin a new life, like many another better-educated but no less deluded man. He had come West with a young wife, but with little other property to speak of, to make a fortune.

And he had made a living-in that he was luckier than many have been. He had farmed at first, only; but later, as other men had settled near him, he had clubbed with four of them to rent the fishing and trapping of the lagoon from the railway company. They had it for a few dollars, and it was a second source of profit, for musquash fur is fairly valuable; and as a man will sometimes get a weasel when after rabbits, so also did the trappers pick up many a mink upon the prowl for prey.

Fifteen years he had lived there. And now, on this frosty night, he sat alone with his thoughts. He had opened the stove-door, and the light of a "corn-cob" fire played upon his features.

One would have taken him to be more than forty; but his life had been a hard one. His handsome face was deeply wrinkled and had a careworn expression; he had no moustache, but his full beard was liberally streaked with grey, and all the fore-top of his head was bald-but it did not shine; like his face, it was deeply sun-burnt. He had been a kind and forgiving husband to a nagging wife; and perhaps those deep lines upon his face and the bald tanned forehead were the trade-marks of his manhood.

In his rough (but none the less generous) recollection he treasured up one or two of his dead wife's kindlier actions; but the dates of such scanty evidences of her love were far remote, and even his large and forgiving heart could not set them off against the whole of a subsequent career.

He thought carefully over all his past life, and deeply regretted the way in which the last twenty years of it had ebbed away. Now that he was alone in the world, if he were a younger man (he said to himself) he would go West and try, on entirely different lines, to make a fortune. The last twenty years of his life had been a mistake; if he could only live them over again they should be spent very differently.

Twenty years back; that would leave him twenty-one years old. Ah, yes, if he were only twenty-one now, he would go West. But forty-one?—he was too old.

"If I was only twenty-one!"

The thought seemed to arouse a deepening interest within him, and he mused, half-aloud:

"If I had it to do over again, I reckon there's one thing I'd do, or bust-get rich. I wouldn't fool along like I have been doing. . . . And there's another thing I reckon I wouldn't do-I wouldn't get married; not much!"

He gazed at the fire through the open stove-door, an elbow on the table, and his bald forehead in his hand.

"If only them last twenty years could be sot back!"

Presently he felt drowsy, and his head dropped upon his arms. He did not go to bed that night, nor did he move from his position, for he had fallen into a deep sleep.

II.

When Clem awoke next morning, he was greatly surprised to find that he had fallen asleep in his chair; yet he felt much refreshed. One arm, on which his head had rested all night, was very stiff, and

he was bitterly cold; so he commenced at once to build a fire. Day was just breaking after a night of severe frost.

He tried to recollect what he had been dreaming about, but all seemed a blank; several times, almos unconsciously, he passed a hand over his bald forehead.

The fire having burnt up he put on the coffee-pot, and then went out to attend to his team of horses. Sometimes he raised his hat as he went about his work; he fancied there was a strange tickling sensation about the upper part of his brow.

After he had brushed the horses off, he could not help standing behind them for a minute or two; he had never noticed that they were such a fine team before; and somehow he felt a new kind of pride of proprietorship. All things considered, he could not help feeling that he was in wonderful spirits this morning.

"Poor Ellen," he thought. "I hope she don't know how peart I feel!"

He went back to the cabin, cut several slices of bacon and fried them, and cooked a couple of eggs in the fat. That was his usual breakfast, but he ate it, every bit, and wanted more; so he repeated the operation, and still, somehow, did not feel quite satisfied. Surely, sitting all night in the cold room had given him a most abnormal appetite!

"Ain't eat such a breakfast," he mused, scratching his head, sence I was a lad."

"sence

A neighbour, one of his partners in the fur trade, came to the door. The fur harvest was waiting for them at last.

"Well, well, Clem!" he exclaimed; "ain't done breakfast yet? Pretty near half a day gone to thunder. Ice bears properly this morning; and bet a dollar you hain't got your spear sharpened." Latham felt called upon to apologise.

"Never eat such a breakfast-sence I was a lad. Yer see, I sot up all night, and sort o' got an innard chiii.

"Lonesome, I 'spect!"

"Well, no," acknowledged Clem; "I feel pretty peart."

"Well, well," said his partner, in a knowing sort of way. Then Clem suddenly remembered that he had buried his wife only yesterday, and his face grew serious.

"Yes," he said, "'tis kind o' lonesome." And as he thought upon his dead wife, he thought more kindly of her memory than he had done the night before-thought of her with the generous interest of earlier years.

Au hour later he was out with his partners on the ice.

Each man bore a three-pronged spear in one hand, a hatchet in the other (the musquash trapper's outfit is not an expensive one); and when they had reached that definite section of the lagoon which they had determined upon for the day's operations, they began methodically to pay a visit to the dome-shaped rat-houses, one by one. Four of the men took up position on the thin clear ice, at equal intervals around the "house," but at a short distance from it. The fifth man it was who "called" at the house, and an unceremonious visit he paid tco; he simply advanced and jumped upon the dome. The rats never waited to see who it was who was knocking; out they went beneath the ice in all directions--one, two, three, sometimes eight or nine of them.

Then began the work of the spear-men.

A short, quick stab:

the spear went down through the ice as though it were but a thin sheet of paper, and an unfortunate rat was impaled. Two smart blows with the hatchet broke a hole in the ice, the spear was drawn back, with a sudden jerk the animal was dislodged from the barbs and fell upon the ice, gave one or two convulsive kicks, and was dead-all was but the work of a moment.

The water was shallow, the ice thin and clear, the men were expert hands-few rats escaped. But of all the partners, even at the first house at which they called, Clem was the most brisk and active. In a moment he had secured one musquash; but he noticed another one making off to the left. He took a quick step in that direction, slipped up, sat down more quickly than was his wont, and made a great "star." Clem Latham, the man who buried his wife yesterday! But he laughs loud and boyishly, as he has not laughed since he was a boy. But that rat got away-to another house probably.

Never mind" said Clem with careless good humour; and when one of the other men fell he laughed louder than ever. So the work went on; and he was the most energetic of all, shouting at his partners with boyish zest, and enjoying the sport.

Sport!

He had followed this occupation for many years, in a cool collected way, as a matter of business. But he had never looked upon it as sport before.

Strange !

And the boyish zest, whence came that?

"It's mighty strange," he said to the knowing partner; “I feel that peart-I feel to be not over thirty; n' more I am, to-day, I du believe,"

"Well, well," said the partner once more, as if making allowance for him.

And as he became heated with the exercise, his forehead tickled him more and more.

So matters went on day by day, till nearly all the lagoon had been worked over. And the partners looked at Latham each day with increasing surprise. His boyish zest increased, and a younger ook was spreading over his formerly careworn face.

"Clem," said one of the men at last, one evening when they were skinning, and pausing as he cut the tail off the musquash on which he was working, "Clem, you're gettin' younger every day." "Am I?" said Clem innocently.

"And the grey hairs is nearly all gone out'n your beard," went on the other, ripping the skin off, down to the head and over it.

"And the hair's a-growin' over yer forehead," as he inserted the thin oval piece of board to distend the skin, which was now inside

out.

"Nonsense!" said Latham.

"True as you're there. And there's another ten cents' worth (hanging up the skin to dry). "Tell yer what it is, Clem; 'tain't decent, your gettin' young again, like this, just because yer wife died. Is it, now?"

"No, it ain't," said Clem ruefully. "But I can't help it. I'm hat peart, I get younger every day."

He was a man of few expressions. It was too true. His beard was no longer grey, but nearly black again. He dared not let his moustache grow, because he knew that would be jet black. And he knew, too, that the hair really had begun to grow over his forehead, where a month ago he was bald.

"I can't help it," he thought half ruefully. "I wanted to be sot back, and blamed if I don't believe it's happened. I feel a young man again. The wrinkles is nearly all gone out'n my face. It's darned awkward. I'ud better git up and clear. It's ondecent, as Joe says, to come out now like this. But I can't help it. I'ud better git somewheres where I ain't known."

He had said before that if he were only young again he would go West. Now, he not only felt young again, but he had a tangible reason for going. The idea had taken root, and before long he acted. He sold out, and went West under the name of Briggs.

"Clement L. Briggs!" he said to himself. "Don't sound bad. Reckon it'll do as well as any to pull my freight by ; and it's a kind of a double combination too."