The headlong nature of the demand set Steve smiling.
"Well, I guess we can't go till winter quits," he said. "We'll need to wait awhile till it's not dark any more. Then we'll take An-ina. And Julyman. And Oolak. And the dogs. How's that? Then, after awhile, when boy's Pop and his Mummy come back, then maybe we'll come right back, too. Eh?"
The anticipation of it all was ravishing to the child mind, and the boy resettled himself.
"'Ess," he agreed, with a great sigh. "An' the little dear, an' the nice Auntie. Us all come back." Then with infantile persistence he returned to his old love. "More 'tory," he demanded. "'Bout debble-mens." Then, as an after-thought: "Wot isn't, cos Uncle says they doesn't, an' An-ina says him is when he wasn't, cos he can't be."
Steve sprang to his feet with a great laugh, bearing the little fellow in his strong arms. He had accomplished his task and all was well.
"No more 'tory," he cried setting him on the ground. "All us men have work to do. We need to help An-ina. Come on, old fellow."
And with a great feeling of relief and contentment he began the re-adjustment of the furs which protected the little life which had become so precious to him.
For all the nights were almost interminable, and the days so desperately short time passed rapidly. It was nearly three weeks later that the patient, indefatigable An-ina brought the word Steve awaited.
The daylight had passed, engulfed by the Arctic night which had added a dull, misty moon to its splendid illumination. The temperature had risen. Steve knew a change was coming. The signs were all too plain. He knew that the period of peace had nearly run its course, and the elements were swiftly mobilizing for a fresh attack.