“I am going. I am all right now,” said Paul, pulling on his moccasins. “I am going. I know the way.”
“Nonsense!” shouted the missionary. “You stay here. You don’t go a foot. You will only keep us back.”
Paul looked at him stupidly, then smiled. “I am going. You can’t keep me here. I am going.” His voice remained quite quiet. “I’ll not hold you back. Let me go! Oh, let me go!” Again his hands went out in an imploring gesture.
The missionary paused in his preparations, keenly searching the boy’s face.
“All right, you young mule!” he snapped. “We haven’t time to argue. Anyway we have two toboggans,” he added to himself. “All right, all right. Feed this youth, Mother. He can stand some meat now. Fill the beggar up while we get ready. Here, off with those socks of yours,” he continued. “Dry socks, Mother. Two pairs. My mackinaws—find a pair of mitts. All right, now! Steady all!”
His wife, without a word and with swift hands that never hesitated or fumbled, followed out his instructions.
“Here, boy!” said the missionary. “If you are going with me, listen and obey orders.” There was no mistaking that tone.
“Yes, sir, I will!” said Paul. “Tell me what to do.”
“First sit here close to the fire,” said the missionary, drawing close to the glowing stove a big rocking chair. “Eat and drink all you can. Don’t guzzle; take your time. Get dry, warm things on your feet and hands. We shall not move for twenty minutes or so. Eat—drink—rest. Do you hear?”
“Yes, sir. I will. I am all right, sir, thank you, sir.”