to escape Madame, who eats everything, I follow the tracks of the reindeer
into the forest. It has jogged along without haste, but toward a definite
goal--straight east to meet the day. By the banks of the Skiel, which is
so rapid that its waters never freeze, the reindeer has stopped to drink,
to scrape the hillside for moss, to rest a while, and then moved on.

And perhaps what this reindeer has done is all the knowledge and
experience I gain that day. It seems much to me. The days are short; at
two, I am already strolling homeward in the deep twilight, with the good,
still night approaching. Then I begin to cook. I have a great deal of meat
stored in three pure-white drifts of snow. In fact I have something even
better: eight fat cheeses of reindeer milk, to eat with butter and
crisp-bread.

While the pot is boiling I lie down, and gaze at the fire till I fall
asleep. I take my midday nap before my meal. And when I waken, the food is
cooked, filling the hut with an aroma of meat and resin. Madame darts back
and forth across the floor and at length gets her share. I eat, and light
my cutty-pipe.

The day is at an end. All has been well, and I have had no unpleasantness.
In the great silence surrounding me, I am the only adult, roaming man;
this makes me bigger and more important, God's kin. And I believe the
red-hot irons within me are progressing well, for God does great things
for his kin.

I lie thinking of the reindeer, the path it took, what it did by the
river, and how it continued on its journey. There under the trees it has
nibbled, and its horns have rubbed against the bark, leaving their marks;
there an osier bed has forced it to turn aside; but just beyond, it has