Robert Emmett's last speech, on St. Patrick's day, at Eagle Hall, an' I
near cried at the end; an' I don't cry easy. It takes somethin' pretty
bad t' make me cry," and he looked furtively toward Baldy.

"I'm sure it does, sonny; any one can see that you're game, all right;
but that speech always makes me cry too."

The boy regarded "Scotty" appreciatively. Here was a typical Alaskan, a
sturdy trailsman, touched by the tender, pitiful things of life, just
like a little boy that hasn't had time to become hardened. Ben felt that
they would be friends.

[Illustration: SCOTTY AND BALDY]

"I like all kinds o' speakin', too; not jest the fiery sort that makes
you want t' fight fer your country, an' mebbe die fer it like Robert
Emmett; but the kind that jest makes you want t' be good ter folks an'
dogs, an' do the best you kin when things is agin you, an' you don't
see much ahead--"

The Woman nodded gravely. "Yes, I know. It's the most difficult sort of
bravery--the sort without flags, and music, and cheers to keep you up to
the firing line."

"That's the kind, ma'am. Mebbe you know Bishop Rowe. That's what he
preaches--jest doin' your best all the time, like you was in some big
race. When he's in Nome I allers go t' St. Mary's. He talks plain an'
simple, an' cheers you up--I guess kinda the way Lincoln talked--jest
like he knew all about people's troubles an' didn't blame 'em fer
mistakes, but wanted t' help 'em t' do better. Sometimes his talks don't