"Besides, he ain't no cur--he's one o' them Bowen-Dalzene pups, an' you know there ain't a poor dog in the lot. They give him to me 'cause he wasn't like any o' the others in the litter, an' would 'a' spoiled the looks o' the team when they was old enough ter be hitched up," continued Ben breathlessly. "He was sort o' wild, too, an' he wouldn't pay attention t' any of 'em when I was round, an' they said I might as well take him fer keeps as t' have him runnin' away t' git t' me all the time." "And your mother does not like him, and thinks it would be best not to keep him now?" "She really does like him; but she does the washin' fer the Camp, an' helps with the dishes, an' sews when she kin git a job at it. But there ain't none of 'em reg'lar, an' sometimes there ain't more'n enough fer us two t' live on. Then she gits pretty tired an' discouraged like, an' says Baldy's a useless expense, an' keeps me from doin' my chores, 'cause I like t' play with him, an'--" "Yes, yes, I see," broke in the Woman hastily, anxious to spare him any further revelations of a painful nature. "I know exactly how it is; but maybe we could make some arrangement with your mother about the dog. We will take a sort of an option on him; you can keep him with you, and we will pay a certain sum for the privilege of being permitted to buy him outright before the stampede actually begins." The boy looked at her suspiciously, but there was no smile on her lips, and she rose a notch in his estimation. She evidently did realize, in a slight degree, what an unusual bargain was being offered in his heart-breaking sacrifice. "An' it ain't 'cause his appetite's gone that makes him thin. I wasn't tellin' the truth about that," he stammered desperately; "he's jest _hungry_." The child's mouth quivered and he hesitated, yet he was determined to tell the whole of the sordid little tragedy now that he had begun. "But spendin' too much time with him when I should be workin' ain't the worst. To-day I done somethin' that mebbe she'll think ain't exac'ly square; an' my mother believes if you ain't square in this world you ain't much worth while." "You're not, son," agreed "Scotty" heartily. "Your mother's right." "My father was allers called Honest Ben Edwards out here on the Third Beach Line, an' Mother says she'd ruther have that mem'ry o' him than all the fortunes that's been made in Alaska by lyin' an' steal-in' an' jumpin' other people's claims." "Right again, Ben. Nothing can take that from her, and a name like that is the best thing a man can leave his son." "This mornin' she gave me some money fer a new pair o' mittens fer her, an' shoes fer me; an' the cook asked me t' buy a kitchen knife an' a few pans fer him. I walked inter town t' git 'em, an' Baldy come with me, though she said I was foolish t' be bothered with him. But I told her it was awful lonesome on the trail, an' she said I could take him this time." He paused for breath, visibly embarrassed.