ural to a man like
Iron, lusty and eager, with an appetite for money--whereas poor Polly
had done her best to cure him of his dollars. She is like a dutiful
scapegoat eager to carry the burdens of all the people, but Iron
doesn't understand and would carry rocks to the cliffs rather than have
no load in a world of workers. Don't you remember, mother, the lesson of
the Labrador, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be
the name of the Lord." He takes away the things which keep us from Him.

But here was Iron jumping about the cabin, busy as a chipmunk, with just
the same hurried, funny way of blaspheming. He had to make fire, cook
soup, and haul things in from outdoors, while he told me news about a
team, a sleigh, a load of stores for me, and his own services paid up
six months ahead if I'd let him work on the ranch. He was like a little
boy which plays at keeping store, where you've got to pretend to trade,
with nary a smile, lest he should see and the whole game turn unreal. So
I sat up for soup, which made my loose skin fit me again as I filled.
I'd answer to all he did, grave as a constable, playing the game of life
just as I used to.

All of us have to play, at trade, at war, at love, at kingdoms and
republics. We play at empire without a grin, we play with serious faces
at learning and the arts. Yet all the business of men is like a game of
children playing on the sands, as though there were no tide to sweep
away our footprints.

I played with Iron at being alive, and he got so damned indulgent I
could have smacked his face.

When he'd tended the horses, Iron set up a clock upon the shelf, so I
might hear the ticking as time passed. He carried in armloads from the
sleigh, he opened cases, he spilled out sacks. He showed me maple syrup,
try-your-strength cigars, a dandy rifle with plenty ammunition, books,
clothes, candy, a piano which plays itself, then garden seeds, and all
sorts of things which you'd have honed for in the long ago. The place
was like a barter store, piled to the beams with riches wasted on me,
who hadn't a neighbor left. Why, even Iron, who used to think for no one
but himself, had a kitten for me, warm in his pocket, and forgotten
until a case of hardware squashed out its best Sunday scream. Who'd ever
think, too, that so small a bundle of fur and claws should have a purr
to fill my whole bed with joy. Surely, I loved this world I'd so nearly
quit, when after supper Iron loo