"Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?"

Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north.

"Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone
through the beeg snow."

Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He
dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone
outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of
silver light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern
skies.

"Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!"

Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north.

"We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at
night."

"Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?"

Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then
to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than
curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan
Thoreau.

The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed.

"It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg