So he made fast to the sailboat and went ashore. The citadel, with its hyacinthine hues changing under the passing clouds, invited him, and he walked toward it through the waving grass. Just before reaching it, however, he was confronted by a curious object, a little hut or lodge that some hunter, perhaps, had erected to pass the night in. He approached the door, and paused. Behind him Agricola uttered a short bark. Instantly a dark young face appeared, and dark young eyes were looking into his. They gazed for a moment, almost with reverence. Then, since Marvin said nothing but only smiled, the boy smiled too, and spoke. “Bo-jou, Mugwuh!” “Bo-jou, Little Pine.” It was the merest guess on Marvin’s part, but it happened to be right. “Why did you call me Mugwuh?” A look of anxiety came over the dark young face. “You not the Bear?” “Yes,” smiled Marvin, “I’m Mahan, the Bear.” The lad seemed relieved. “My father Ojeeg is down in the boat. What you want me to do?” The question was so humble, so much like the one which Marvin himself had asked a few hours earlier, that he did not inquire into the mystery of it. “I think we’d better put him ashore and leave him till we get back. I’m going to the Soo to buy some provisions for the Humming-Bird, and I want you to go along.” The Little Pine obediently picked up a water-worn board and carried it down to the shore to serve as a gangplank. Marvin walked up the gang and presently emerged with Ojeeg’s limp form lying over his left shoulder. It looked to the Little Pine like a great feat, but every soldier knows how it is done. This one came ashore and laid the sleeper down beneath a tree. The sharp exertion made him a trifle dizzy. He walked up the gang again, swayed across the sailboat, stepped across to the Kittiwake, and plunged head first into twenty feet of water. But this time he did not lose consciousness. When he came up he rolled over on his back and floated. In two or three minutes he was neatly dragged out on the sand, where he lay with closed eyes and open mouth. He heard loud whines and felt a rough tongue licking his face. Then a hand drew his own tongue forward, and a resolute finger explored his mouth. He was too thoroughly humbled to object, nor did he mind being turned on his face and lifted in the middle. Next he felt a finger exploring his pulse. By the time his head ceased to whirl he heard the crackling of fire. So when the Little Pine came back and helped him to his feet, he was ready to strip again and hang his clothes before the blaze. The Little Pine did likewise and went off to gather firewood. Returning with an armful he stopped before his patient and surveyed him critically. “You fell down this morning. You got red line right across heart. So you do not breathe good.” Having announced his diagnosis, which was good so far as it went, the Little Pine replenished the fire and backed up close to it, like Manabozho when he punished his legs for going to sleep.