ones, a closer union of the brotherhood that holds together all things
under the cold gray of the northern skies.

There were no bickerings among the hunters, no anger of man against
man in the fierce voices that emphasized the slashing cuts of the
caribou-whips. If the fangs of a Hudson's Bay husky let out the life-
blood from the soft throat of a Mackenzie hound, it was a matter of
the dogs, and not of their owners. They did not quarrel.

One day a fierce Eskimo pack cornered a giant husky under the big
spruce, and slew him. When Cummins came from the company's store in
the afternoon, he saw a number of men, with bared heads, working about
the grave. He drew near enough to see that they were building around
it a barricade of saplings; and his breath choked him as he turned to
the cabin and Melisse. He noticed, too, that no fires were built near
the spot consecrated to the memory of the dead woman; and to his cabin
the paths in the snow became deeper and wider where trod the wild
forest men who came to look upon the little Melisse.

These were days of unprecedented prosperity and triumph for the baby,
as they were for the company. The cabin was half filled with strange
things, for all who came gave something to Melisse. There were polar
bears' teeth, brought down by the little black men who in turn had got
them from the coast people; strange gods carved from wood; bits of
fur, bushy fox tails, lynx paws, dried fruits, candy bought at
fabulous prices in the store, and musk--always and incessantly musk--
from Mukee's people of the west barrens.

To Jan this homage to Melisse was more than gratifying. It formed a
bond between him and Cummins' people. His heart went out to them, and