he two men could not
help her now. It rested with her wit.

"I'll take him with me," answered Joan, and caught up the howling puppy
from the floor. His wails died out against her breast.

"But you mustn't do that, honey. He'd die in this cold night wind long
before you got there."

"Oh!" sighed Joan, and considered her mother with great eyes. Black Bart
turned and uneasily tugged at her dress.

"Will you take good care of him, munner? Till I come back?"

"But I don't know how to take care of him, dear. If you go he'll cry and
cry and cry until he dies."

Joan sighed.

"See how quiet he is when you hold him, Joan!"

"Oh," muttered Joan again. The distress of the problem made her wrinkle
her forehead. She turned to Kate for help.

"Munner, what'll I do?"

"You'd best stay here until the puppy is strong enough to go with you."

She kept her voice well under control; it would not do to show the
slightest emotion, and now she sat down and half turned away from the
child. With her eyes she flashed a signal at the two troubled men and
they followed her lead. Their center of vision was now upon the fire. It
left Joan, to all appearances, quite out of notice.

"Oh, that'll be a long, long time, munner."

"Only a little while, Joan."

"But Daddy Dan'll be lonesome up there."

"He has Satan and Bart to keep him company."

"Don't you think he wants Joan, munner?"

"Not as much as the poor little puppy wants you, Joan."

She added, with just the slightest tremor: "You decide for yourself,
Joan. Go if you think it is best."

"Bart, what'll Joan do?" queried the child, turning in dismay toward the
wolf-dog, but as soon as he saw the puppy in her arms, he greeted her
with a murderous snarl.

"You see," suggested her mother, "that Black Bart would eat up the poor
little puppy if you went now with him."

At this alarming thought, Joan shrank away from Bart and when he
followed her, anxiously, she cried: "Go away! Bad dog! Bad Bart!"

He caught the edge of her dress and drew back toward the door, and this
threw Joan into a sudden panic. She struck Bart across his wrinkled
forehead.

"Go away!" he slunk back, snarling at the puppy.

"Go back to Daddy Dan." Then, as he pricked his ears, still growling
like distant thunder: "Go tell Daddy Dan that Joan has to stay here a
while. Munner, how long?"

"Maybe a week, dear."

"A whole week?" she cried, dismayed.

"Perhaps only one or two or three days," said Kat