nt, and the woman was at Jan's
feet, clasping his hand to her bosom as she had clasped it once before
when he had gone out to face death for her. But this time the snow veil
was very thick before Jan's eyes, and he did not see her face. Only he
heard.

"Bless you, dear Jan, and may God bless you evermore! For you have been
good to me, Jan--so good--to me--"

And he went out into the day again a few moments later, leaving her
alone in her great grief, for Jan was a man in the wild and mannerless
ways of a savage world, and he knew not how to comfort in the fashion
of that other world which had other conceptions and another
understanding of what was to him the "honor of the Beeg Snows." A week
later the woman announced her intention of returning to her people, for
the dome of the earth had grown sad and lonely and desolate to her now
that Cummins was forever gone. Sometimes the death of a beloved friend
brings with it the sadness that spread like a pall over Jan and those
others who had lived very near to contentment and happiness for nearly
two years, only each knew that this grief of his would be as enduring
as life itself. For a brief space the sweetest of all God's things had
come among them, a pure woman who brought with her the gentleness and
beauty and hallowed thoughts of civilization in place of its
iniquities, and the pictures in their hearts were imperishable.

The parting was as simple and as quiet as when the woman had come. They
went to the little cabin where the sledge dogs stood harnessed.
Hatless, silent, crowding back their grief behind grim and lonely
countenances, they waited for Cummins' wife to say good-bye. The woman
did not speak. She held up her child for each man to kiss, and the baby
babbled meaningless things into the bearded faces that it had come to
know and love, and when it came to Williams' turn he whispered, "Be a
good baby, be a good baby." And when it was all over the woman crushed
the child to her breast and dropped sobbing upon the sledge, and Jan
cracked his whip and shouted hoarsely to the dogs, for it was Jan who
was to drive her to civilization. Long after they had disappeared
beyond the clearing those who remained stood looking at the cabin; and
then, with a dry, strange sob in his throat, Williams led the way
inside. When they came out Williams brought a hammer with him, and
nailed the door tight.

"Mebby she'll come back some day," he said.

That was all, but the others u