As he stood there, hesitating for an instant, Nance stirred in her sleep. "Daddy, Santa Claus," she murmured. That was all, but it was enough to cause Martin to draw back. The perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead, not caused by the fire alone. He paced rapidly up and down the room, pausing at times to look upon the child. It was a stern battle he was fighting. How could he accept those presents from the Church? And yet how could he disappoint Nance? He wavered to and fro. It was his own battle, and there was no one to help him. He went to the door, and looked out. He knew that it was past midnight by the position of the stars. All was still and cold. The sharp air cooled his hot face, and somewhat calmed his excited mind. He closed the door and sat down. It was Christmas morning, the day which had always brought such a peace into his soul until his fall. He thought of it now and of the days of youth when he had gone with his parents to the little parish church. He saw the choir singing the familiar words of "Hark! the Herald Angels Sing," and "O Come, All Ye Faithful." He knew that in a few hours they would be singing them again in the same parish from which he had been driven out. Try as he might he could not banish the vision of the past which came to him this night. A spirit of peace seemed suddenly to surround him, while the old feeling of bitterness and animosity was for a time forgotten. He could not explain it, neither did he try to do so.
How long he remained there he could not tell. Whether he fell asleep and dreamed all the things he saw he did not know. But when he at length aroused himself the fire was burning low, and the dawn of a new Christmas day was stealing over the land. He threw several sticks upon the fire, and then, picking up the presents, he hung them all upon the tree. The strife for the present was over. Nance would be happy when she awoke, and that was all-sufficient.
CHAPTER VII
THE CEASELESS THROB
After the Christmas excitement life settled down to a quiet monotony in the little cabin at the mouth of the Quaska River. Nance played day after day with her doll and other toys, and never seemed to grow weary of them. Martin visited his traps each day, and during the long evenings remained at home. There was no work he could do upon the interior of the building, so he had very little to occupy his time. Nance always went to bed early, after she had several stories told to her. Silence then brooded over the place, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of the violin, upon which Martin would play when the mood was upon him. There was nothing else for him to do but sit and smoke, alone with his own thoughts.
For a while he was contented with this quietness and solitude. But Martin was a man, not a beast of the pen, and he possessed something besides a mere body. There was a power within him which refused to be still. It was ever active, like the ceaseless throb of the engine concealed within the ship. He had known other things. He knew what it was to study, to think, and to aspire. His training had made him so, and he could not endure a life of inactivity.
For the first time since entering the wilderness an insatiable longing came upon him for books, or reading matter of some kind. He thought of his well-filled shelves in his old parish. What a pride he had taken in his library, and what joy had always been his when he could be alone for a while with his favourite authors. But now he had nothing, not even a scrap of a newspaper. He looked around the barren room, and a tremor shook his body as he realised what little chance there was of ever having those rude walls adorned with books. And what an opportunity for reading, he mused, by the bright light of the open fire.
He was thinking thus one evening when the door softly opened and Taku and Quabee glided into the room, and squatted upon the floor to his left. Martin was pleased that they had come, as he was beginning to be quite fond of these two well-behaved natives. The only difficulty he had was in talking with them. He did not understand their language, while their knowledge of the English tongue was most meagre. Otherwise they would have proven most congenial company.
By their manner he knew that they had come for some special purpose, for they were unusually silent, and sat for a time without saying a word. Martin offered Taku a plug of tobacco, which the latter took, filled his pipe, and then handed it over to his wife. Soon large volumes of smoke were filling the room, while expressions of satisfaction rested upon the faces of the visitors.