t, David," he said softly. "A splendid night!"

He spoke in a strange, quiet voice that made David turn. The Little
Missioner was facing the moon. He was gazing off into that wonder-world
of forests and snow and stars and moonlight in a fixed and steady gaze,
and it seemed to David that he aged, and shrank into smaller form, and
that his shoulders drooped as if under a weight. And all at once David
saw in his face what he had seen before when in the coach--a
forgetfulness of all things but one, the lifting of a strange curtain,
the baring of a soul; and for a few moments Father Roland stood with his
face turned to the light of the skies, as if preoccupied by an
all-pervading and hopeless grief.

CHAPTER X

It was Baree who disturbed the silent tableau in the moonlight. David
was staring at the Missioner, held by the look of anguish that had
settled so quickly and so strangely in his face, as if this bright night
with its moon and stars had recalled to him a great sorrow, when they
heard again the wolf-dog's howl out in the forest. It was quite near.
David, with his eyes still on the other, saw Father Roland start, as if
for an instant he had forgotten where he was. The Missioner looked his
way, and straightened his shoulders slowly, with a smile on his lips
that was strained and wan as the smile of one worn out by an arduous
toil.

"A splendid night," he repeated, and he raised a naked hand to his head,
as if slowly brushing away something from before his eyes. "It was a
night like this--this--fifteen years ago...."

He stopped. In the moonlight he brought himself together with a jerk. He
came and laid a hand on David's shoulder.

"That was Baree," he said. "The dog has followed us."

"He is not very far in the forest," answered David.

"No. He smells us. He is waiting out there for you."

There was a moment's silence between them as they listened.

"I will take him a fish," said David, then. "I am sure he will come to
me."

Mukoki had hoisted the gunny sack full of fish well up against the roof
of the cabin to keep it from chance marauders of the night, and Father
Roland stood by while David lowered it and made a choice for Baree's
supper. Then he reentered the cabin.

It was not Baree who drew David slowly into the forest. He wanted to be
alone, away from Father Roland and the quiet, insistent scrutiny of the
Cree. He wanted to think, ask himself questions, find answers for them
if he could. His