Across the body lay the form of the Little Pine, with his arms around her neck. He had ceased to stroke her, had abandoned the effort to call her back. Only there came at intervals the moan, tearless and hopeless.
“Shinguakonse!”
As the lad lifted his arms from the dead body his whole frame shook with a shudder of terror.
“Good shot, my boy! I couldn’t have done better myself.”
Then the old man knelt and gathered the Little Pine to his heart.
“My dear chap, I understand. You were not content to bring groceries—you wanted to bring her a deer too.”
The boy moaned something in his own tongue.
“Of course not. Mother wouldn’t understand. She never killed a deer in her life. I’m the chap that understands.”
The Little Pine lifted his face from the doctor’s shoulder, but the look of despair was not gone.
“I kill your only cow.”