All that suddenly awakened mother’s love could do was done.  The skilful physician did his best, but it was the mother that saved him.  She watched over him night and day; she studied his wishes and comfort in every way.  She prayed by his bedside, and often asked God to forgive her for her long neglect.  It was Yan’s first taste of mother-love.  Why she had ignored him so long was unknown.  She was simply erratic, but now she awoke to his brilliant gifts, his steady, earnest life, already purposeful.

XIII

The Lynx

As winter waned, Yan’s strength returned.  He was wise enough to use his new ascendency to get books.  The public librarian, a man of broad culture who had fought his own fight, became interested in him, and helped him to many works that otherwise he would have missed.

“Wilson’s Ornithology” and “Schoolcraft’s Indians” were the most important.  And they were sparkling streams in the thirst-parched land.

In March he was fast recovering.  He could now take long walks; and one bright day of snow he set off with his brother’s Dog.  His steps bent hillward.  The air was bright and bracing, he stepped with unexpected vigour, and he made for far Glenyan, without at first meaning to go there.  But, drawn by the ancient attraction, he kept on.  The secret path looked not so secret, now the leaves were off; but the Glen looked dearly familiar as he reached the wider stretch.

His eye fell on a large, peculiar track quite fresh in the snow.  It was five inches across, big enough for a Bear track, but there were no signs of claws or toe pads.  The steps were short and the tracks had not sunken as they would for an animal as heavy as a Bear.

As one end of each showed the indications of toes, he could see what way it went, and followed up the Glen.  The dog sniffed at it uneasily, but showed no disposition to go ahead.  Yan tramped up past the ruins of his shanty, now painfully visible since the leaves had fallen, and his heart ached at the sight.  The trail led up the valley, and crossed the brook on a log, and Yan became convinced that he was on the track of a large Lynx.  Though a splendid barker, Grip, the dog, was known to be a coward, and now he slunk behind the boy, sniffing at the great track and absolutely refusing to go ahead.

Yan was fascinated by the long rows of footprints, and when he came to a place where the creature had leaped ten or twelve feet without visible cause, he felt satisfied that he had found a Lynx, and the love of adventure prompted him to go on, although he had not even a stick in his hand or a knife in his pocket.  He picked up the best club he could find—­a dry branch two feet long and two inches through, and followed.  The dog was now unwilling to go at all; he hung back, and had to be called at each hundred yards.

They were at last in the dense Hemlock woods at the upper end of the valley, when a peculiar sound like the call of a deep-voiced cat was heard.