When my moose-meat spluttered rowdily in the frying-pan, I noticed
old Ebbits's nostrils twitch and distend as he caught the food-
scent. He ceased rocking for a space and forgot to groan, while a
look of intelligence seemed to come into his face.

Zilla, on the other hand, rocked more rapidly, and for the first
time, in sharp little yelps, voiced her pain. It came to me that
their behavior was like that of hungry dogs, and in the fitness of
things I should not have been astonished had Zilla suddenly
developed a tail and thumped it on the floor in right doggish
fashion. Ebbits drooled a little and stopped his rocking very
frequently to lean forward and thrust his tremulous nose nearer to
the source of gustatory excitement.

When I passed them each a plate of the fried meat, they ate
greedily, making loud mouth-noises - champings of worn teeth and
sucking intakes of the breath, accompanied by a continuous
spluttering and mumbling. After that, when I gave them each a mug
of scalding tea, the noises ceased. Easement and content came into
their faces. Zilla relaxed her sour mouth long enough to sigh her
satisfaction. Neither rocked any more, and they seemed to have
fallen into placid meditation. Then a dampness came into Ebbits's
eyes, and I knew that the sorrow of self-pity was his. The search
required to find their pipes told plainly that they had been
without tobacco a long time, and the old man's eagerness for the
narcotic rendered him helpless, so that I was compelled to light
his pipe for him.

"Why are you all alone in the village?" I asked. "Is everybody
dead? Has there been a great sickness? Are you alone left of the