perhaps the faint praise he was beginning to bestow on Baldy had in it
more or less of the impersonal approval he gave to all dogs who did not
prove themselves hopelessly bad. But it seemed at least a step in the
right direction when "Scotty" had said, replying to criticism of the
Woman, "No, he is certainly not fierce, and by no means so morose as he
looks. So far I must confess he's proving himself a pretty good sort."

Of course even the Woman, who admitted frankly that first impressions
counted much with her, knew that it was not always wise to judge by
appearances, for she had seen the successful development of the most
unlikely material. There was the case of Tom, Dick, and Harry. No one
would ever have supposed in seeing them, so alert and with the quickness
and grace of a cat in their movements, that in their feeble mangy
infancy they had only been saved from drowning by their excellent family
connections, and their appealing charm of responsiveness. A
responsiveness that in maturity made them favorites with every one who
knew them, and prompted the tactful ways that convinced each admirer
that his approval was the last seal to their satisfaction in the fame
they had won. When Tom leaned against people confidingly, and put up his
paw in cordial greeting; and Dick and Harry, so much alike that it was
nearly impossible to tell them apart, stood waiting eagerly for the
inevitable words of praise, it was hard indeed to realize that their
perfect manners were a cloak for morals that rough, uncultured Baldy
would condemn utterly.

With the departure of the last boats of the summer there is no
connecting link with the great, unfrozen outside, except the wireless
telegraph and the United States Government Dog Team Mail that is brought
fifteen hundred miles, in relays, over the long white trail from Valdez.
Then, with the early twilight of the long Arctic winter, which lasts