Martin had never lost track of the days and months, for one of the few things he had brought with him into the wilderness was a tiny calendar. He had carefully observed Sunday, and abstained from all unnecessary work on this day. He told himself that it was not only for his bodily welfare that he should do so, but it was the divine command. It had nothing to do with the Church, so he reasoned, and although he had been separated from the latter, he still believed that the Great God was his Father, and that His Son had died for mankind. He was by no means an unbeliever, except in his attitude toward the Church. In fact he had always been most careful about Nance repeating her little prayer every night at his knee, although he himself had abandoned the practice since he had become an outcast.
With much care he traced with his rude pencil the things he needed to make the cabin more comfortable, as well as the food and clothing necessary for Nance. Indian hunters were to start in the morning for the trading post across the mountains, and they would take his skins, and bring back the articles he required. They were not many to be sure, but the Indians could easily bring them with their dog teams, and they were quite willing to do it for their white brother.
A delighted chuckle from Nance aroused him, causing him to glance quickly in her direction.
"What is it, little one?" he questioned, as the child sprang to her feet and came to his side.
"Look, see!" she cried. "We are playing Santa Claus. Mamma is fixing up a tree for me and dolly, oh, such a pretty tree."
"It is a beauty," and Martin opened his eyes wide, and stared hard at the imaginary tree. "What nice things you have upon it."
"Oh, no, there's nothing on it yet," and the child gave a chuckle of delight. "We're just fixing it up for Santa Claus. He's coming, you know, and will put such lovely things on it."
"Do you think that old Santa will find you here?" Martin inquired.
"He found me last Christmas, all right, and brought me such lovely things—a little woolly dolly, and candy. When will it be Christmas again?" and Nance climbed upon Martin's knee. The imaginary tree was well enough in play, but it could not take the place of the real one.
"Christmas will soon be here, Nance. It won't be long. What would you like Santa Claus to bring you this year?"