There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby
Melisse talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy.
With the baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her
tiny cot, he would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the
pride and happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of
her kittens.

Once, when Melisse straightened herself for an instant, and half
reached up her tiny arms to him, laughing and cooing into his face, he
gave a glad cry, crushed his face down to hers, and did what he had
not dared to do before--kissed her. There was something about it that
frightened the little Melisse, and she set up a wailing that sent Jan,
in a panic of dismay, for Maballa. It was a long time before he
ventured to kiss her again.

It was during this fortnight of desolation at the post that Jan
discovered the big problem for himself and John Cummins. In the last
days of the second week, he spent much of his time skirting the edge
of the barrens in search of caribou, that there might be meat in
plenty when the dogs and men returned a little later. One afternoon,
he returned early, while the pale sun was still in the sky, laden with
the meat of a musk-ox. As he came from the edge of the forest, his
slender body doubled over under the weight of his pack, a terrifying
sight greeted him in the little clearing at the post.

Upon her knees in front of their cabin was Maballa, industriously
rolling the half-naked little Melisse about in a soft pile of snow,
and doing her work, as she firmly believed, in a most faithful and
thorough manner. With a shriek, Jan threw off his pack and darted
toward her like a wild thing.