In the golden glow of the autumn sun there one day came up the stream overlooked by the Sun Rock a man, a woman, and a child. Almost two years had passed since Joan, the girl-wife, had left these regions with her trapper husband for a taste of that distant world which is known as Civilization. All her life, except the years she had passed at a Mission school over at Fort Churchill, she had lived in the forests--a wild flower of nature as truly as the velvety _bakneesh_ flowers among the rocks. And civilization had done for her what it had done for many another wild flower transplanted from the depths of the wilderness. She did not look as she did in the days when she was Kazan's mistress, and when the wolf-dog's loyalty was divided between Gray Wolf, on the Sun Rock, and Joan, in the cabin half a mile away. Her cheeks were thin. Her blue eyes had lost their luster. She coughed, and when she coughed the man looked at her with love and fear in his eyes. But now, slowly, the man had begun to see the transformation, and on the day their canoe pointed up the stream and into the wonderful valley that had been their home before the call of the distant city came to them, he noted the flush gathering once more in her cheeks, the fuller redness of her lips, and the gathering glow of happiness and content in her eyes. He laughed softly as he saw these things, and he blessed the forests. "You are happy again, Joan," he said joyously. "The doctors were right. You are a part of the forests." "Yes, I am happy," she whispered, and suddenly there came a little thrill into her voice, and she pointed to a white finger of sand running out into the stream. "Do you remember--years and years ago, it seems--that Kazan left us here? She was on the sand over there, calling to him. Do you remember?" There came a little tremble to her mouth. "I wonder--where they--have gone." The cabin was as they had left it. Only the crimson _bakneesh_ had grown up about it, and shrubs and tall grass had sprung up near its walls. Once more it took on life, and day by day the color came deeper into Joan's cheeks, and her voice was filled with its old wild sweetness of song. Joan's husband cleared the trails over his old trap-lines, and Joan and the little Joan, who romped and talked now, transformed the cabin into _home._ One night the man returned to the cabin late, and when he came in there was a glow of excitement in Joan's blue eyes. "Did you hear it?" she asked. "Did you hear--_the call?_" He nodded, stroking her soft hair. "I was a mile back in the creek swamp," he said. "I heard it!" Joan's hands clutched his arms. "It wasn't Kazan," she said. "I would recognize his voice. But it seemed to me it was like the other--the call that came that morning from the sandbar, his mate's." The man was thinking. Joan's fingers tightened. She was breathing a little quickly. "Will you promise me this?" she asked. "Will you promise me that you will never hunt or trap for wolves?"