If he could have seen at that moment the weary little figure toiling along the forest road, he would have uttered the appreciative adjective with even more energy. Tired, hungry, occasionally stooping to lift a handful of snow to her lips, 'Tilda Jane plodded on. Her thin figure was bent from fatigue. She had again picked up the wailing dog, and had slung him on her back in the shawl, yet there was not the slightest indication of faltering in her aspect. There were no clearings in the woods, no promise of settlement, yet her face was ever toward the promised land of Ciscasset, and her back to the place of captivity in Vanceboro.