“I call that scrumptious!  And he looks as if he was saying he was sorry all the time.”

She nodded, delighted that the Boy comprehended the subtle symbolism.

“One more!” she said, showing her dazzling teeth.  Like a child playing a game, she half shut the hat-box and hugged it lovingly.  Then with eyes sparkling, slowly the small hand crept in—­was thrust down the side and drew out with a rapturous “Ha!” a gaudy advertisement card, setting forth the advantages of smoking “Kentucky Leaf” She looked at it fondly.  Then slowly, regretfully, all the fun gone now, she passed it to the Boy.

“For Sister Winifred!” she said, like one who braces herself to make some huge renunciation.  “You tell her I send with my love, and I always say my prayers.  I very good.  Hey?  You tell Sister Winifred?”

“Sure,” said the Boy.

The Ol’ Chief was pulling the other parki over his head.  Nicholas reappeared with the visitor’s effects.  Under the Boy’s eyes, he calmly confiscated all the tea and tobacco.  But nothing had been touched in the owner’s absence.

“Look here:  just leave me enough tea to last till I get home.  I’ll make it up to you.”

Nicholas, after some reflection, agreed.  Then he bustled about, gathered together an armful of things, and handed the Boy a tea-kettle and an axe.

“You bring—­dogs all ready.  Mush!” and he was gone.

To the Boy’s surprise, while he and Muckluck were getting the food and presents together, the lively Ol’ Chief—­so lately dying—­made off, in a fine new parki, on all fours, curious, no doubt, to watch the preparations without.

But not a bit of it.  The Ol’ Chief’s was a more intimate concern in the expedition.  When the Boy joined him, there he was sitting up in Nicholas’s sled, appallingly emaciated, but brisk as you please, ordering the disposition of the axe and rifle along either side, the tea-kettle and grub between his feet, showing how the deer-skin blankets should be wrapped, and especially was he dictatorial about the lashing of the mahout.

“How far’s he comin’?” asked the Boy, astonished.

“All the way,” said Muckluck.  “He want to be sure.”

Several bucks came running down from the Kachime, and stood about, coughed and spat, and offered assistance or advice.  When at last Ol’ Chief was satisfied with the way the raw walrus-hide was laced and lashed, Nicholas cracked his whip and shouted, “Mush!  God-damn!  Mush!”

“Good-bye, Princess.  We’ll take care of your father, though I’m sure he oughtn’t to go.”

“Oh yes,” answered Muckluck confidently; then lower, “Shaman make all well quick.  Hey?  Goo’-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

“Don’t forget tell Sister Winifred I say my p—­” But the Boy had to run to keep up with the sled.

For some time he kept watching the Ol’ Chief with unabated astonishment, wondering if he’d die on the way.  But, after all, the open-air cure was tried for his trouble in various other parts of the world—­why not here?