"I s'pose that's so; but I was thinkin' of my own woman and kids at home, and how I'd feel to see 'em starving!" Then as though regretting the turn the conversation had taken, he reached for his furs, and while pulling his parkie over his head preparatory to leaving, said more briskly: "I'm goin' to bed, boys; you better do the same; it's near mornin'," and with that he left the saloon. Presently the little boy stirred and whimpered. Instantly the mother roused herself, though with some effort, and the crackers were brought to light. The child was ravenous, and ate greedily. When he had finished the Eskimo by the fire came toward them, saying a few words softly in his own tongue. With that the boy put out his arms and the man took him, going back to his place by the fire. The woman had changed her position, and was soon again asleep. When daylight came, the bartender began moving about. He thought the natives had better get into the fresh air, as he wanted to clean the place, he said. With that the two Eskimos plodded out through the snowdrifts; the man carrying the child in his arms. The blizzard had died away, and the air was still and cold. When they reached the woman's door they entered, the man first pushing away the snow with his feet, the child still cuddling in his arms. Beside the camp stove lay piled a heap of small driftwood sticks and a sack of coal. Upon the table a few eatables had been deposited, evidently some hours before. A fire was soon crackling, and a meal was cooking. To the woman's questions the man had not replied. He might have been a deaf man, for all the notice he had taken. She still questioned, speaking their native dialect. When all was done he came close, took her hand in his own, and, speaking in Eskimo, said feelingly: "My little sweetheart, wont you let me love you now? Many long and weary moons have I waited until my heart is very sore. Tell me if you cannot love me? I will be very good and you shall never starve. I will work. I will bring much driftwood. I have salmon and tomcod, and a dog-team of the best. In summer we will sail for Tubuktulik and make a pleasant hunting camp. There we will shoot squirrels and the big bear, and you shall again be happy with freedom." At this effort of long speaking the Eskimo seemed abashed, for he was a man of few words usually; but he still clung to the little hand of the woman by his side. "And my boy?" she whispered eagerly, with tears shining in her eyes, which were now looking unreservedly into his own. "He shall be mine, and I will ever love him," was the reply, as she glanced proudly toward the baby amusing himself with the sticks. "You are gentle to Stella, and she will do all things as you say," murmured the woman softly, with drooping head, and trembling. "And will you love me always, little one?" putting his arms about her and pressing her dose to his heart.