n George and Dan often singled him out for
special use, and the joy of a run with Ben Edwards was almost an
inevitable part of the day's program, there were still a number of
matters that were distinctly trying to Baldy.

He could not, for one thing, quite figure out the Woman, nor reconcile
himself to her constant presence and aimless wanderings about the place.

When "Scotty" and Matt, or even Danny and George came in, it was for
some evident purpose; when the boy appeared, it was to see him
exclusively, but it was different with her.

She apparently loved all of the dogs, but she had no idea of discipline,
and casually suggested all sorts of foolish and revolutionary privileges
for them that would have meant ruin in no time.

She held the tiniest puppies in her lap when she should have known it
was not good for them, spent hours playing with the young dogs with no
attempt at training; and he could not forget that she had tried, the
first day he had ever met her, to drag him ignominiously into her sled.

Even Ben's evident friendliness toward her did not overcome Baldy's
disapproval, though he frequently went with them for long walks which
would have been far more agreeable could he have been with the boy
alone. She quite monopolized his chum, talking so earnestly that the dog
was almost ignored, and could only trot along with the consolation that
Ben shared was better than Ben absent.

Then, too, she was not in the least discriminating, and told Tom, who
perhaps had as many faults as any member of the team, that he had an
"angel face"; spoke of Dick and Harry, clever imitators of their
brother's misdeeds, as "The Heavenly Twins"; and alluded to Irish and
Rover, gentle Irish Setters, as "Red Devils," which was so rankly unjust
that Baldy, who knew not automobiles, was amazed at her stupidity. To
Baldy the word "Devil" had an evil sound, for when he had heard it at
Golconda it was generally associated with a kick or a blow. She even
ostentatiously walked past the chained dogs sometimes, carrying fluffy
Jimmie Gibson, the baby blue fox from the Kobuk, which was tantalizing
to a degree. But when she let Jack McMillan put his paws on her
shoulders, and lay his big head against her cheek, calling him a
"perfect lamb" or a "poor dear martyr," in a tone that betrayed
affectionate sympathy, Baldy turned away in disgust.

As a matter of fact these attentions and endearments were exceedingly
unwise, for they were invaria