"I would rather have you with me than have all the strikes in the world!"
"I know—but we don't want to spend all our days in this God-forgotten wilderness, fighting famine, and the strong cold. We want to go far away from all this, where there is music, and books, and life! You've got it coming, little girl—but first we must make a strike."
"And, we will not be married until you make your strike?" The dark eyes looked wistfully into his, and Brent smiled:
"Strike or no strike, we will be married in the spring!" he cried, "and if the strike has not been made, we'll make it together."
"Will we be married at the mission?"
"No—at Dawson."
"Dawson!" cried the girl, "And I shall really see Dawson? But, isn't it very far?"
Brent laughed: "Yes, you will really see Dawson—and you won't see much when you see it, in comparison with what you will see when we quit
the North and go back to the States. In the spring you and Wananebish, and Joe Pete and I will take a month's vacation—and when we come back, darling, we will have each other always."
"But, if you do not make a strike?" questioned the girl, "What then? Would you be happy here in the North—with me?"