"An-ina scared of devil-men?" Steve smilingly shook his head. "It's only stupid 'Sleeper' men scared of devil-men. Anyway there's no devil-men. Just wolves, and bears, that boy'll hunt and kill when he grows up."
"But hers says ther's debble-men," the boy protested, his eyes wide with awe.
Steve shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "Uncle Steve knows. He knows better than Indians. Better than An-ina. Boy always remember that."
"Oh, 'ess, boy 'members."
The child impulsively thrust an arm about the man's neck and Steve's arm tightened unconsciously about the little body.
"Tell us 'tory," the child urged.
Steve's contemplative eyes were upon the glowing stove.
"What'll it be about?" he said at last. Then, as though suddenly inspired, "Why, I know, sure. It's about a little boy. A real bright little boy. Oh, I guess he was all sorts of a boy—like—like Marcel."
"Wot's 'all sorts'?" the child demanded.