dragged the cricket from where Mac placed it, closer,
closer, and as no terrible change in the unmoved face warned him to
desist, he pulled it into its usual evening position between Mac's
right foot and the fireplace. He sank down with a sigh of relief, as
one who finishes a journey long and perilous. The fire crackled and the
sparks flew gaily. Kaviak sat there in the red glow, dressed only in a
shirt, staring with incredulous, mournful eyes at the Farva who had--

Then, as Mac made no sign, he sighed again, and held out two little
shaky hands to the blaze.

Mac gave out a sound between a cough and a snort, and wiped his eyes on
the back of his hand.

Kaviak had started nervously.

"You cold?" asked Mac.

Kaviak nodded.

"Hungry?"

He nodded again, and fell to coughing.

Mac got up and brought the newly purchased coat to the fire.

"It's for you," he said, as the child's big eyes grew bigger with
admiration.

"Me? Me own coat?" He stood up, and his bare feet fluttered up and down
feebly, but with huge delight.

As the parki was held ready the child tumbled dizzily into it, and Mac
held him fast an instant.

In less than five minutes Kaviak was once more seated on the cricket,
but very magnificent now in his musk-rat coat, so close up to Mac that
he could lean against his arm, and eating out of a plenty-bowl on his
knees a discreet spoonful of mush drowned in golden syrup--a supper for
a Sultan if only there had been more!

When he had finished, he set the bowl down, and, as a puppy might, he
pushed at Mac's arm till he found a way in, laid his head down on
"Farva's" knee with a contented sigh, and closed his heavy eyes.

Mac put his hand on the cropped head and began:

"About that empty syrup-can--"

Kaviak started up, shaking from head to foot. Was the obscure nightmare
coming down to crush him again?

Mac tried to soothe him. But Kaviak, casting about for charms to disarm
the awful fury of the white man--able to endure with dignity any
reverse save that of having his syrup spilt--cried out:

"I solly--solly. Our Farva--"

"I'm sorry, too, Kaviak," Mac interrupted, gathering the child up to
him; "and we won't either of us do it any more."

CHAPTER VIII

CHRISTMAS

"Himlen morkner, mens Jordens Trakt
Straaler lys som i Stjernedragt.
Himlen er bleven Jordens Gjaest
Snart er det Julens sode Fest."

It had been moved, seconded, and carried by acclamation that they
sho