"No; four and a half. But he's bigger—"
"Of course."
"And you can see already—he's got a lot in him."
Father Wills nodded with a conviction that brought Mac nearer confession than he had ever been in his life.
"You see," he said quite low, and as if the words were dragged out with pincers, "the fact is—my married life—didn't pan out very well. And I—ran away from home as a little chap—after a lickin'—and never went back. But there's one thing I mean to make a success of—that's my boy."
"Well, I believe you will, if you feel like that."
"Why, they've gone clean past the camp trail," said Mac sharply, "all but Nicholas—and what in thunder?—he's put the kid back on the sled—"
"Yes, I told my men we'd be getting on. But they were told to leave you the venison—"
"What! You goin' straight on? Nonsense!" Mac interrupted, and began to shout to the Indians.
"No; I meant to stop; just tell your friends so," said the unsuspecting Father; "but with a sick child—"