“Now sit down and be quiet,” she said nervously.

Potts and Mac obeyed, but Kaviak had fastened his fine little hand on the weak one, and anchored so, stared about taking his bearings.

“How did you get to the Klondyke, Kaviak?” said the Colonel in a thin, breathy voice.

“Came up with Sister Winifred,” Farva answered for him.  “She was sent for to help with the epidemic.  Dyin’ like flies in Dawson—­h’m—­ahem!” (Apologetic glance at Maudie.) “Sister Winifred promised to keep Kaviak with her.  Woman of her word.”

“Well, what you think o’ Dawson?” the low voice asked.

Kaviak understood the look at least, and smiled back, grew suddenly grave, intent, looked sharply round, loosed his hold of the Colonel, bent down, and retired behind the bed.  That was where Nig was.  Their foregathering added nothing to the tranquility of the occasion, and both were driven forth by Maudie.

Potts read the Colonel his letters, and helped him to sign a couple of cheques.  The “Louisville instructions” had come through at last.

After that the Colonel slept, and when he woke it was only to wander away into that world where Maudie was lost utterly, and where the Colonel was at home.  There was chastening in such hours for Maudie of Minook.  “Now he’s found the Other One,” she would say to herself—­“the One he was looking for.”

That same evening, as they sat in the tent in an interval of relief from the Colonel’s muttering monotone, they heard Nig making some sort of unusual manifestation outside; heard the grunting of those pioneer pigs; heard sounds of a whispered “Sh!  Kaviak.  Shut up, Nig!” Then a low, tuneless crooning: 

  “Wen yo’ see a pig a-goin’ along
    Widder straw in de sider ’is mouf,
  It’ll be er tuhble wintuh,
    En yo’ bettah move down Souf.”

“Why, the Boy’s back!” said the Colonel suddenly in a clear, collected voice.

Maudie had jumped up, but the Boy put his head in the tent, smiling, and calling out: 

“They told me he was getting on all right, but I just thought maybe he was asleep.”  He came in and bent over his pardner.  “Hello, everybody!  Why, you got it so fine and dark in here, I can hardly see how well you’re lookin’, Colonel!” And he dropped into the nurse’s place by the bedside.

“Maudie’s lined the tent with black drill,” said the Colonel.  “You brought home anything to eat?”

“Well, no——­” (Maudie telegraphed); “found it all I could do to bring myself back.”

“Oh, well, that’s the main thing,” said the Colonel, battling with disappointment.  Pricked by some quickened memory of the Boy’s last home-coming:  “I’ve had pretty queer dreams about you:  been givin’ Maudie the meanest kind of a time.”

“Don’t go gassin’, Colonel,” admonished the nurse.

“It’s pretty tough, I can tell you,” he said irritably, “to be as weak as a day-old baby, and to have to let other people——­”