"Present," said Ol' Chief. "You tell Father Brachet us belly solly."
"Oh, I'll handle him without gloves," said the Boy, giving back the mittens. But Ol' Chief wouldn't take them. He was holding up the smaller of the two parkis.
"You no like?"
"Oh, very nice."
"You no buy?"
"You go sleep on trail," said Nicholas, rising briskly. "You die, no parki."
The Boy laughed and shook his head, but still Ol' Chief held out the deer-skin shirt, and caressed the wolf-fringe of the hood.
"Him cheap."
"How cheap?"
"Twenty-fi' dollah."