"Oh, wurra, wurra, but 'tis freezin'!" she said again. "Why d'ye kape the
door opin whin the child's perishin'?"

Macavoy sat looking at her, his trouble shaking him.

"I'll shut the door meself, thin," she added; "for 'twas I that lift it
opin, Tim." She started up, but gave a cry like a wailing wind, and fell
back.

"The door is shut," said Pierre.

"But the child--the child!" said Macavoy, tears running down his face and
beard.




THE GIFT OF THE SIMPLE KING

Once Macavoy the giant ruled a tribe of Northern people, achieving the
dignity by the hands of Pierre, who called him King Macavoy. Then came a
time when, tiring of his kingship, he journeyed south, leaving all
behind, even his queen, Wonta, who, in her bed of cypresses and yarrow,
came forth no more into the morning. About Fort Guidon they still gave
him his title, and because of his guilelessness, sincerity, and
generosity, Pierre called him "The Simple King." His seven feet and over
shambled about, suggesting unjointed power, unshackled force. No one
hated Macavoy, many loved him, he was welcome at the fire and the
cooking-pot; yet it seemed shameful to have so much man useless--such an