Mac got up and brought the newly purchased coat to the fire.
"It's for you," he said, as the child's big eyes grew bigger with admiration.
"Me? Me own coat?" He stood up, and his bare feet fluttered up and down feebly, but with huge delight.
As the parki was held ready the child tumbled dizzily into it, and Mac held him fast an instant.
In less than five minutes Kaviak was once more seated on the cricket, but very magnificent now in his musk-rat coat, so close up to Mac that he could lean against his arm, and eating out of a plenty-bowl on his knees a discreet spoonful of mush drowned in golden syrup—a supper for a Sultan if only there had been more!
When he had finished, he set the bowl down, and, as a puppy might, he pushed at Mac's arm till he found a way in, laid his head down on "Farva's" knee with a contented sigh, and closed his heavy eyes.
Mac put his hand on the cropped head and began:
"About that empty syrup-can—"
Kaviak started up, shaking from head to foot. Was the obscure nightmare coming down to crush him again?
Mac tried to soothe him. But Kaviak, casting about for charms to disarm the awful fury of the white man—able to endure with dignity any reverse save that of having his syrup spilt—cried out: