Tuktu hoped so, too, but she didn’t say so. She merely reminded Aklak that only one of his father’s deer had been chosen the year before.
As the days slipped by, Aklak was less and less certain that his deer would be chosen. Finally, he confessed to Tuktu that if the Good Spirit would just take one, he would be satisfied.
“He will. I know he will,” replied Tuktu.
One morning when their father was off hunting, Aklak proposed that they take the two pack-deer and go over to the edge of the Valley of the Good Spirit, where they could look down into it. Tuktu shook her head and there was a startled look in her big eyes. “Oh, no, Aklak,” she cried, “we mustn’t do that!”
“Why not?” demanded Aklak. “You went down into the valley last year. Why should you be afraid to do it again?”
“But I didn’t go of my own will,” cried Tuktu. “I was taken there without knowing I was going, and that is very different. I think the Good Spirit knew and meant for me to come.”
“Well, anyway,” said Aklak, “let’s go up on the hills where we can look down on the curtain of beautiful mist. That will do no harm. Besides, I want to see if those deer I trained are all right.”
But Tuktu would not be moved. “Do you remember the story the white man told, and that I told you?” she demanded.
Aklak nodded. “What of it?” said he.
“Do you not remember that the children who peek, not only never see the good saint when he visits them at Christmas, but get no gifts?”