“Purty near time we was havin’ moderate weather,” replied Peeler. “Never saw such a winter as this one’s been. Think o’ poor Injun Noah bein’ holed up for six weeks like he’s been. No wonder Gloss is some lonesome for the old man; he’s never had to stay away from the little girl so long before. And the old man has never seen her in that silver-fox coat you and him made her, Bill. I’ll bet he’d like to be here.”
“It sure is a beautiful coat,” said Boy, “and Gloss is mighty proud of it. She speaks about Noah every day. ‘Wonder if he’s warm and has enough to eat,’ she’ll say, and, ‘Do you think Noah’ll be very lonesome over on the Point?’ My, but she does think a lot o’ him, boys.”
“Sure she does,” cried Declute. “Bless her, she couldn’t think more of him if he was her own grandaddy, could she now?”
“Bein’ Gloss, she naturally loves everythin’,” nodded Paisley, “—everythin’ that moves and flies and crawls; everythin’ that’s alive, she loves.”
“When she’s sayin’ good-night to me,” said Boy softly, “she always says good-night to all of us, you know——”
“Same’s she does her prayers,” murmured Paisley; “yes?”
“She spoke about the Broadcrooks. Wondered if they were wantin’ for anythin’, and said she wished she knew.”
“Ain’t that like her?” laughed Declute, “—worryin’ about them no-count Broadcrooks? Ain’t that like our Gloss, though?”
“Asked me if I’d seen anythin’ of Amos,” continued Boy, “and that made me think I hadn’t seen him or any of ’em since the first blizzard came.”
“Of course they’re all right,” said Paisley. “I know they had plenty wood up an’ lots o’ meat strung. Still it does seem funny that old Amos hasn’t burrowed his way through the drifts somehow. It ain’t very comfortable for him at home, I guess.”