"Good morning!" Rouletta's voice was muffled. As if repeating a lesson, she ran on: "Yes, I feel fine. I had a dandy sleep; didn't cough and my lungs don't hurt. And no bad dreams. So I want to get up. There! I'm well."
"You hongry, too, I bet, eh?"
"Oh, I'm dying. And my nose—it won't work."
Doret shouted his laughter. "You wait. I mak' fire queeck an' cook de breakfas', den—you' nose goin' work all right. I got beeg s'prise for dat li'l nose to-day."
The top of Rouletta's head, her eyes, then her mouth, came cautiously out from hiding.
"What is it, 'Poleon? Something to eat?"
"Sapre! What I tol' you? Every minute 'eat, eat'! You' worse dan harmy of Swede'. I ain't goin' tol' you what is dis s'prise—bimeby you smell him cookin'."
"Moose meat!" Rouletta cried.
"No'" 'Poleon vigorously resumed his labor every stroke of the ax was accompanied by a loud "Huh!" "I tol' you not'in'!" he declared; then after a moment he voiced one word, "Caribou!"
Again Rouletta uttered a famished cry.