. An' that's me confession. I did me duty to the
devil, an' now, God willin', I'll do me duty to God."

"Negook and Hadikwan, you have heard the white man's words," Edith said
to the Indians. "His words are here on this paper, and it is for you to
make a sign, thus, on the paper, so that white men to come after will
know that you have heard."

The two Siwashes put crosses opposite their signatures, received a
summons to appear on the morrow with all their tribe for a further
witnessing of things, and were allowed to go.

Dennin's hands were released long enough for him to sign the document.
Then a silence fell in the room. Hans was restless, and Edith felt
uncomfortable. Dennin lay on his back, staring straight up at the moss-
chinked roof.

"An' now I'll do me duty to God," he murmured. He turned his head toward
Edith. "Read to me," he said, "from the book;" then added, with a glint
of playfulness, "Mayhap 'twill help me to forget the bunk."

The day of the execution broke clear and cold. The thermometer was down
to twenty-five below zero, and a chill wind was blowing which drove the
frost through clothes and flesh to the bones. For the first time in many
weeks Dennin stood upon his feet. His muscles had remained inactive so
long, and he was so out of practice in maintaining an erect position,
that he could scarcely stand.

He reeled back and forth, staggered, and clutched hold of Edith with his
bound hands for support.

"Sure, an' it's dizzy I am," he laughed weakly.

A moment later he said, "An' it's glad I am that it's over with. That
damn bunk would iv been the death iv me, I know."

When Edith put his fur cap on his head and proceeded to pull the flaps
down over his ears, he laughed and said:

"What are you doin' that for?"

"It's freezing cold outside," she answered.

"An' in tin minutes' time what'll matter a frozen ear or so to poor
Michael Dennin?" he asked.

She had nerved herself for the last culminating ordeal, and his remark
was like a blow to her self-possession. So far, everything had seemed
phantom-like, as in a dream, but the brutal truth of what he had said
shocked her eyes wide open to the reality of what was taking place. Nor
was her distress unnoticed by the Irishman.

"I'm sorry to be troublin' you with me foolish spache," he said
regretfully. "I mint nothin' by it. 'Tis a great day for Michael
Dennin, an' he's as gay as a lark."

He broke out in a merry whistle,