For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back
into the cabin, and from the little gingham-covered box in the corner
he took a buckskin bag.
"You are going to Churchill for Melisse and for HER" he said in a
voice pitched low that it might not awaken the baby. "Take this."
Jan drew a step back.
"No, I fin' work with ze compan-ee at Churchill. That is ze gold for
Melisse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no--what you call heem?"
His teeth gleamed in a smile, but it lasted only for an instant.
Cummins' face darkened, and he caught him firmly, almost roughly, by
the arm.
"Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Melisse," he exclaimed with
finality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school, and not to work
with your hands. THEY are sending you. Do you understand, boy? THEY!"
There was a fierce tremor in his voice. "Which will it be? Will you
take the bag, or will you never again come back to Lac Bain?"
Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush
burned in his cheeks. Cummins looked in wonder upon the strange look
that came into his eyes.
"I pay back this gold to you and Melisse a hundred times!" he cried
tensely. "I swear it, an' I swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lie!"
Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had
stretched out his other arm to the violin hanging against the wall.
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