"My name is Ted Strong," he said, genially, grinning cheerfully at the
young Alaskan, "I say this is a jolly place. I wish you would teach me to
fish in a snow-hole. It must be great fun. I like you; let's be friends!"
Kalitan took the boy's hand in his own rough one.

"Mahsie" (thank you), he said, a sudden quick smile sweeping his dark
face like a fleeting sunbeam, but disappearing as quickly, leaving it
grave again. "Olo?" (hungry).

"Yes," said Mr. Strong, "hungry and cold."

"Camp," said Kalitan, preparing to lead the way, with the hospitality of
his tribe, for the Thlinkits are always ready to share food and fire with
any stranger. The two boys strode off together, and Mr. Strong could
scarcely help smiling at the contrast between them.

Ted was the taller, but slim even in the furs which almost smothered him,
leaving only his bright face exposed to the wind and weather. His hair
was a tangle of yellow curls which no parting could ever affect, for it
stood straight up from his forehead like a golden fleece; his mother
called it his aureole. His skin was fair as a girl's, and his eyes as big
and blue as a young Viking's; but the Indian boy's locks were black as
ink, his skin was swarthy, his eyes small and dark, and his features that
strange mixture of the Indian, the Esquimo, and the Japanese which we
often see in the best of our Alaskan cousins.

Boys, however, are boys all the world over, and friendly animals, and Ted
was soon chattering away to his newly found friend as if he had known
him all his life.