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Some hae meat and canna eat,

And some wad eat that want it;

But we hae meat, and we can eat;

Sae let the Lord be thankit.”

“Yes, we hae meat,” he commented, looking somewhat ruefully upon his piece of burned steak, “but I wonder if Bobbie would say ‘Let the Lord be thankit,’ if he had nothing but this?”

“But you have an appetite,” Marion reminded. “Didn’t the poet say that ‘Some hae meat and canna eat’? You should be thankful for that. I am, anyway, and I find this meat very good.”

Both Marion and Rolfe were feeling more cheerful now. This little round of levity did much to dispel the clouds of despair which overshadowed them during the night. The passing of the storm also had its effect, so they looked hopefully forward to a speedy relief from their trying situation. But as the morning wore away and the afternoon was partly sped, and the sergeant had not come, the feeling of deep concern again oppressed them. They tried to be cheerful, and not to betray their anxiety to each other. But their hearts were troubled, for they both strongly felt that something had happened to the one who alone could bring them the needed help. Rolfe had just replenished the fire for the hundredth time during the day, and was on the point of going after more wood for the night, when a cry of joy from Marion caused him to look quickly around. At first he could hardly believe his eyes, for there was Hugo, the trapper, coming toward them among the trees with great strides. A toboggan trailed behind, containing a bundle, and a pair of snow-shoes. His beard was thickly coated with frost, and