"Now
--we will give them--to Melisse."
He drew the books out, one by one, his fingers trembling and his
breath coming quickly as he touched them--a dozen worn, dusty things,
holding within them more than John Cummins would ever know of the
woman he had lost. These volumes of dead voices had come with her into
the wilderness from that other world she had known. They breathed the
pathos of her love from out of their ragged pages, mended in a hundred
places to keep them from falling into utter ruin. Slowly the man
gathered them against his breast, and held them there silently, as he
might have held the woman, fighting hard to keep back his grief.
Jan thrust a hand deeper into the box, and brought forth something
else--a few magazines and papers, as ragged and worn as the books. In
these other treasures there were pictures--pictures of the things in
civilization, which Jan had never seen, and which were too wonderful
for him to comprehend at first. His eyes burned excitedly as he held
up a gaudily covered fashion paper to John Cummins.
"Theese are picture for Melisse!" he whispered tensely. "We teach her
--we show her--we mak her know about ceevilize people!"
Cummins replaced the books, one at a time, and each he held tenderly
for a moment, wiping and blowing away the dust gathered upon it.
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