bidarka and a paddle thrust
into his hand. A stray wild-fowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the
surf broke limply and hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight brooded
over land and water, and in the north the sun smouldered, vague and
troubled, and draped about with blood-red mists. The gulls were flying
low. The off-shore wind blew keen and chill, and the black-massed
clouds behind it gave promise of bitter weather.

"Out of the sea thou earnest," Opee-Kwan chanted oracularly, "and
back into the sea thou goest. Thus is balance achieved and all things
brought to law."

Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "I bless thee,
Nam-Bok, for that thou remembered me."

But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear of the beach, tore the shawl from
her shoulders and flung it into the bidarka.

"It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone
to nip old bones."

"The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows
cannot keep thee warm."

Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother
that bore me!" he called. "Listen to the words of Nam-Bok, thy son.
There be room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou camest
with him. For his journey is to where there are fish and oil in
plenty. There the frost comes not, and life is easy, and the things of
iron do the work of men. Wilt thou come, O Bask-Wah-Wan?"

She debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then
raised her voice to a quavering treble. "I am old, Nam-Bok, and soon I
shall pass down among the shadows. But I have no wish to go before my
time. I am old, Nam-Bok, and I am afraid."

A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man
in a splendor of red and gold. Then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk,
and only was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the
gulls flying low in the air.

THE MASTER OF MYSTERY

There was complaint in the village. The women chattered together with
shrill, high-pitched voices. The men were glum and doubtful of aspect,
and the very dogs wandered dubiously about, alarmed in vague ways by
the unrest of the camp, and ready to take to the woods on the first
outbreak of trouble. The air was filled with suspicion. No man was
sure of his neighbor, and each was conscious that he stood in like
unsureness with his fellows. Even the children were oppressed and
solemn, and little Di Ya, the cause of it all, had been soundly
thrashe