swept the longed-for ship. Yet, strangely
enough, that night the "Mother o' the Men" wept a storm of tears,
the only tears she had yielded to in those long five years. For
with its blessing of food the ship had her hold bursting with
liquors and wines, the hideous commerce that invades the pioneer
places of the earth. Should the already weakened, ill-fed and
scurvy-threatened garrison break into those supplies, all the labor
and patience and mothering of this courageous woman would be
useless, for after a bean diet in the Northern latitudes, whiskey
is deadly to brain and body, and the victim maddens or dies.

"You are crying, mother, and the ship here at last!" said Grahamie's
voice at her shoulder. "Crying when we are all so happy."

"Mother is a little upset, dear. You must try to forget you ever
saw her eyes wet."

"I'll forget," said the boy with a finality she could not question.
"The ship is so full of good things, mother. We'll think of that,
and--forget, won't we?" he added.

"_All_ the things in the ship are not good, Grahamie, boy. If they
were, mother would not cry," she said.

"I see," he said, but stole from her side with a strained, puzzled
look in his young eyes.

Outside he was met by a laughing, joyous dozen of men. One swung
the child to his shoulder, shouting, "Hurrah, little 'North-West'!
Hurrah! we are all coming to pay tribute to your mother. Look at
the dainties we have got for her from the ship!"

"I'm afraid you can't see mother just now," said the boy. "Mother
is a little upset. You see, the ship is so full of good things--but
then, _all_ the things in the ship are not good. If they were,
mother would not cry." In the last words he unconsciously imitated
his mother's voice.

A profound silence enveloped the men. Then one spoke. "She'll never
have cause to cry about anything _I_ do, boys."

"Nor I!" "Nor I!" "Nor I!" rang out voice after voice.

"Run back, you blessed little 'North-West,' and tell mother not to
be scared for the boys. We'll stand by her to a man. She'll never
regret that ship's coming in," said the gallant soldier, slipping
the boy to the ground. And to the credit of the men who wore
buffalo-head buttons, she never did.

And in all her Yukon years the major's wife had but one more
heartache. That agonizing winter had taught her many things, but
the bitterest knowledge to come to her was the fact that her boy
must be sent "to the front." To be sure, he was growin