mind. She seemed, in fact, under a shell of self-control, to conceal
an inner light, like a dimly burning dark-lantern. Her expression
was dumb. She moved about like a deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness
and stony self-repression were extraordinary.

A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he
entered.

"Hullo," he said. "How many did you get?"

It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs
his natural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The
tone was astonishingly young, a quiet, husky boy-voice.

"Damn you, Pete!" was snarled at him for answer. "Haven't you got
my boot mended yet?"

The boot, still lacking its heel, lay on the floor near the stove,
and Hugh now picked it up and hurled it half across the room.

"I have to get out into this ice chest of a wilderness and this
flaming glare that cuts my eyeballs open, and work till the sweat
freezes on my face, and then come home to find you loafing by the
fire as if you were a house cat--purring and rubbing against my legs
when I come in," he snarled. "Thanking me for a quiet nap and a saucer
of milk, eh? You loafer! What do I keep you for? You gorge the bread
and meat I earn by sweating and freezing, and you keep your sluggish
mountain of bones covered. A year or two ago I'd have urged you along
with a stick. I used to get some work out of you then. But you think
you're too big for that, now, don't you? You fancy I'm afraid of your