Northern Trails, Book I. | Page 8

in a bobbing nutshell. For wolf cubs are like collies in this,
that they seem to have a natural interest, perhaps a natural kinship with
man, and next to their own kind nothing arouses their interest like a
group of children playing.
So the little cubs took their first glimpse of the big world, of mountains
and sea and sunshine, and children playing on the shore, and the world
was altogether too wonderful for little heads to comprehend.
Nevertheless one plain impression remained, the same that you see in
the ears and nose and stumbling feet and wagging tail of every
puppy-dog you meet on the streets, that this bright world is a famous
place, just made a-purpose for little ones to play in. Sitting on their tails

in a solemn row the wolf cubs bent their heads and pointed their noses
gravely at the sea. There it was, all silver and blue and boundless, with
tiny white sails dancing over it, winking and flashing like entangled
bits of sunshine; and since the eyes of a cub, like those of a little child,
cannot judge distances, one stretched a paw at the nearest sail, miles
away, to turn it over and make it go the other way. They turned up their
heads sidewise and blinked at the sky, all blue and calm and infinite,
with white clouds sailing over it like swans on a limpid lake; and one
stood up on his hind legs and reached up both paws, like a kitten, to
pull down a cloud to play with. Then the wind stirred a feather near
them, the white feather of a ptarmigan which they had eaten yesterday,
and forgetting the big world and the sail and the cloud, the cubs took to
playing with the feather, chasing and worrying and tumbling over each
other, while the gaunt old mother wolf looked down from her rock and
watched and was satisfied.

Noel and Mooka Down on the shore, that same bright June afternoon,
little Noel and his sister Mooka were going on wonderful sledge
journeys, meeting wolves and polar bears and caribou and all sorts of
adventures, more wonderful by far than any that ever came to
imagination astride of a rocking-horse. They had a rare team of dogs,
Caesar and Wolf and Grouch and the rest,--five or six uneasy crabs
which they had caught and harnessed to a tiny sledge made from a
curved root and a shingle tied together with a bit of sea-kelp. And when
the crabs scurried away over the hard sand, waving their claws wildly,
Noel and Mooka would caper alongside, cracking a little whip and
crying "Hi, hi, Caesar! Hiya, Wolf! Hi, hiya, hiya, yeeee!"--and then
shrieking with laughter as the sledge overturned and the crabs took to
fighting and scratching in the tangled harness, just like the husky dogs
in winter. Mooka was trying to untangle them, dancing about to keep
her bare toes and fingers away from the nipping claws, when she
jumped up with a yell, the biggest crab hanging to the end of her finger.
"Owee! oweeeee! Caesar bit me," she wailed. Then she stopped, with
finger in her mouth, while Caesar scrambled headlong into the tide; for
Noel was standing on the beach pointing at a brown sail far down in the
deep bay, where Southeast Brook came singing from the green
wilderness.

"Ohé, Mooka! there's father and Old Tomah come back from salmon
fishing."
"Let's go meet um, little brother," said Mooka, her black eyes dancing;
and in a wink crabs and sledges were forgotten. The old punt was off in
a shake, the tattered sail up, skipper Noel lounging in the stern, like an
old salt, with the steering oar, while the crew, forgetting her nipped
finger, tugged valiantly at the main-sheet.
They were scooting away gloriously, rising and pounding the waves,
when Mooka, who did not have to steer and whose restless glance was
roving over every bay and hillside, jumped up, her eyes round as lynx's.
"Look, Noel, look! There's Megaleep again watching us." And Noel,
following her finger, saw far up on the mountain a stag caribou, small
and fine and clear as a cameo against the blue sky, where they had so
often noticed him with wonder watching them as they came shouting
home with the tide. Instantly Noel threw himself against the steering
oar; the punt came up floundering and shaking in the wind.
"Come on, little sister; we can go up Fox Brook. Tomah showed me
trail." And forgetting the salmon, as they had a moment before
forgotten the crabs and sledges, these two children of the wild,
following every breeze and bird call and blossoming bluebell and
shining star alike, tumbled ashore and went hurrying up the brook,
splashing through