The Honor of the Big Snows | Page 7

the cabin,
something sprang up between Jan Thoreau and John Cummins which it
would have been hard for man to break. Looking up after many
moments' contemplation of the little Mélisse, Jan gazed straight into
Cummins' face, and whispered softly the word which in Cree means
"father." This was Jan's first word for Mélisse.
When he looked back, the baby was wriggling and kicking as he had
seen tiny wolf-whelps wriggle and kick before their eyes were open.
His beautiful eyes laughed. As cautiously as if he were playing with hot
iron, he reached out a thin hand, and when one of his fingers suddenly
fell upon something very soft and warm, he jerked it back as quickly as
if he had been burned.

That night, when Jan picked up his violin to go back to Mukee's cabin,
Cummins put his two big hands on the boy's shoulders and said:
"Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?"
Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north.
"Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone
through the beeg snow."
Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He
dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone
outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of silver
light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern skies.
"Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!"
Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north.
"We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at
night."
"Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?"
Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then
to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than
curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan
Thoreau.
The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed.
"It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg
snow," he replied softly. "It ees not lie!"
There was more than gentleness in John Cummins' touch now. Jan
could not understand it, but he yielded to it, and went back into the
cabin. There was more than friendship in Cummins' eyes when he
placed his hands again upon the boy's shoulders, and Jan could not
understand that.

"There is plenty of room here--now," said Cummins huskily. "Will you
stay with the little Mélisse and me?"
"With the leetle Mélisse!" gasped the boy. Softly he sped to the tiny cot
and knelt beside it, his thin shoulders hunched over, his long black hair
shining lustrously in the lamp-glow, his breath coming in quick,
sobbing happiness. "I--I--stay with the leetle white angel for ever and
ever!" he whispered, his words meant only for the unhearing ears of the
child. "Jan Thoreau will stay, yes--and hees violon! I give it to
you--and ze museek!"
He laid his precious violin across the foot of the cot.
CHAPTER IV
THE PROBLEM
In the days that followed, there came other things which Jan could not
understand, and which he made no great effort to understand. He talked
little, even to Cummins. He listened, and his eyes would answer, or he
would reply with strange, eery little hunches of his shoulders, which
ruffled up his hair. To the few simple souls at the post, he brought with
him more than his starved body from out of the unknown wilderness.
This was the chief cause of those things which he could not understand.
No man learned more of him than had Cummins. Even to Mukee, his
history was equally simple and short. Always he said that he came from
out of the north--which meant the Barren Lands; and the Barren Lands
meant death. No man had ever come across them as Jan had come; and
at another time, and under other circumstances, Cummins and his
people would have believed him mad.
But others had listened to that strange, sweet music that came to them
from out of the forest on the night when the woman died, and they, like
Cummins, had been stirred by thrilling thoughts. They knew little of
God, as God is preached; but they knew a great deal about Him in other
ways. They knew that Jan Thoreau had come like a messenger from the
angels, that the woman's soul had gone out to meet him, and that she

had died sweetly on John Cummins' breast while he played. So the boy,
with his thin, sensitive face and his great, beautiful eyes, became a part
of what the woman had left behind for them to love. As a part of her
they accepted him, without further questioning as to who he was or