"
"An' th' Lard lets angels come sometimes t' see th' ones they loves,
don't He, mother?"
"Be quiet now, lass."
"But He does?" persisted the child.
"Aye, He does."
"Then if Bob were killed, mother, he'll sure be comin' t' see us. His
angel'd never be restin' easy in heaven wi'out comin' t' see us, for
he knows how sore we longs t' see un."
The mother drew the child to her heart and sobbed.
XV
IN THE WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN
Day after day the Indians travelled to the northward, drawing their
goods after them on toboggans, over frozen rivers and lakes, or
through an ever scantier growth of trees. With every mile they
traversed Bob's heart grew heavier in his bosom, for he was constantly
going farther from home, and the prospect of return was fading away
with each sunset. He knew that they were moving northward, for always
the North Star lay before them when they halted for the night, and
always a wilder, more unnatural country surrounded them. Finally a
westerly turn was taken, and he wondered what their goal might be.
Cold and bitter was the weather. The great limitless wilderness was
frozen into a deathlike silence, and solemn and awful was the vast
expanse of white that lay everywhere around them. They, they alone, it
seemed, lived in all the dreary world.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147