“It looks as if we would have to obey Father Batiste’s directions and feed him by force,” said the girl quietly. “He has come out of the fever, but he hasn’t got his senses back. He thinks of feeding himself. Do you get the straps, Uncle. You recollect Father Batiste’s orders.” Duncan MacGregor scratched his hairy head in puzzled fashion. “How now, stranger?” he growled. “Can you no take your food in peace?” “I can take it without anybody’s help,” insisted Reivers. He knew that the situation was ridiculous, but he saw no way of getting the whip-hand. “It was the word of the good Father, without whom you would now be resting out in the snow with a cairn of rock over you, that you should be fed so much and so little for some days after your senses come back,” said MacGregor slowly. “I do not ken the right of it quite, but the lass does. The lass—she’ll have her way, I suspect. I can do naught but obey her orders.” “Get the straps,” commanded the girl curtly. Reivers glared at her, but she looked back without the least losing her self-possession or determination. “You’ll pay for this!” he snorted. “Will you take your food without the straps?” said she. For a minute their eyes met in conflict. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Reivers. “Have your silly way.” “Good. That’s a good boy,” she said softly; and Duncan Roy ran from the room choking. “You see,” she continued, as he swallowed the first spoonful, “it isn’t always possible to have your own way, is it? I am doing this only for your own good.” “Hold your tongue,” he growled. “I’ve got to eat this food, but I don’t have to listen to your talk.” “Quite right,” she agreed, and the meal was finished in silence. At noon she fed him again, without speaking a word. Apparently she had given her uncle orders likewise to refrain from talking to Reivers, for not a word did he speak during the day. In the evening the same silent feeding took place. After she and her uncle had supped, they drew up to the fireplace, where, in silence, Duncan repaired a dog-harness while the girl sewed busily at a fur coat. At short intervals the uncle cast a look toward Reivers’ bunk, then choked a chuckle in his beard, each chuckle bringing a glance of reproof from his niece. “No, Hattie,” MacGregor broke out finally, “I cannot hold tongue any longer. Company is no’ so plentiful in the North that we can sit by and have no speech. Do you keep still if you wish—I must talk. Stranger, are you going to tell me about yoursel’, as I asked you yestereve?” “Does her Royal Highness, the Red-Headed Chieftainess, permit me to speak?” queried Reivers sarcastically. “’Twas your own sel’ told me to hold tongue,” said the girl evenly, without looking up. “I am glad to see you are reasonable enough to give in.” “Let be, Hattie,” grumbled the old man. “He’s our guest, and we in his debt. Stranger, who are you?” “Nobody,” said Reivers. “Ah!” cried the girl. “Now he’s come to his senses, sure enough.”