The leather-tanned immobility of her face underwent no whit of change
when Cummins solemnly declared that the little Melisse was about to
begin teething. She sat grimly and watched them in silence when
between them, upon a bearskin stretched on the floor, they tried
vainly to persuade Melisse to use her feet.

It was great fun for Melisse, and she enjoyed it immensely; so that as
the days passed, and the post still remained deserted, John Cummins
and Jan Thoreau spent much of their time upon their knees. In their
eyes, the child's progress was remarkable. They saw in her an
unceasing physical growth, and countless symptoms of forthcoming
mental development. She delighted to pull the strings of Jan's violin,
which was an unmistakable token of her musical genius. She went into
ecstasies over the gaudy plates in the fashion paper. She fingered
them in suggestive and inquiring silence, or with still more
suggestive grunts, and made futile efforts to eat them, which was the
greatest token of all.

Weeks passed, and Williams came in from the southern forests. Mukee
followed him from the edge of the barrens. Per-ee returned from the
Eskimo people, three-quarters starved and with half of his dogs
stolen. From the north, east, west, and south the post's fur-rangers
trailed back. Life was resumed. There was a softness in the air, a
growing warmth in the midday sun. The days of the big change were
near. And when they came, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau, of all the
factor's people, wore patches at their knee.