On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin;
and after Melisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms
and held her there for a long time, while Cummins looked on in
silence. When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall,
Cummins put one of his long arms about the boy's shoulders and led him
to the door, where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of
the forest that rose black and silent against the starlit background
of the sky. High above the thick tops of the spruce rose the lone tree
over the grave, like a dark finger pointing up into the night, and
Cummins' eyes rested there.

"She heard you first that night, Jan," he spoke softly. "She knew that
you were coming long before I could hear anything but the crackling in
the skies. I believe--she knows--now--"

The arm about Jan's shoulder tightened, and Cummins' head dropped
until his rough cheek rested upon the boy's hair. There was something
of the gentleness of love in what he did, and in response to it Jan
caught the hand that was hanging over his shoulder in both his own.

"Boy, won't you tell me who you are, and why you came that night?"

"I will tell you, now, that I come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan.
"I am only Jan Thoreau, an' ze great God made me come that night
because"--his heart throbbed with sudden inspiration as he looked up
into his companion's face--"because ze leetle Melisse was here," he
finished.

For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back