THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN
CHAPTER I.
"Why don't she come back, father?"
The man shook his head, his hand fumbled with the wolfskin robe covering the child, and he made no reply.
"She'd come if she knew I was hurted, wouldn't she?"
The father nodded, and then turned restlessly toward the door, as though expecting some one. The look was troubled, and the pipe he held was not alight, though he made a pretense of smoking.
"Suppose the wildcat had got me, she'd be sorry when she comes, wouldn't she?"
There was no reply yet, save by gesture, the language of primitive man; but the big body shivered a little, and the uncouth hand felt for a place in the bed where the lad's knee made a lump under the robe. He felt the little heap tenderly, but the child winced.