y David's fingers was a caress. He
understood. He saw with a vision that was keener than sight. Faith was
born in him, and burned like a conflagration. His head dropped to the
snow; a great, gasping sigh ran through him, and his trembling ceased.
His good eye closed slowly as David gently and persistently massaged the
muscles of the other with his thumb and forefinger. When at last he rose
to his feet and returned to the cabin, Baree followed him to the edge of
the clearing.

Mukoki and the Missioner had made their beds of balsam boughs, two on
the floor and one in the bunk, and the Cree had already rolled himself
in his blanket when David entered the shack. Father Roland was wiping
David's gun.

"We'll give you a little practice with this to-morrow," he promised. "Do
you suppose you can hit a moose?"

"I have my doubts, _mon Pere_."

Father Roland gave vent to his curious chuckle.

"I have promised to make a marksman of you in exchange for your--your
trouble in teaching me how to use the gloves," he said, polishing
furiously. There was a twinkle in his eyes, as if a moment before he had
been laughing to himself. The gloves were on the table. He had been
examining them again, and David found himself smiling at the childlike
and eager interest he had taken in them. Suddenly Father Roland rubbed
still a little faster, and said:

"If you can't hit a moose with a bullet you surely can hit me with these
gloves--eh?"

"Yes, quite positively. But I shall be merciful if you, in turn, show
some charity in teaching me how to shoot."

The Little Missioner finished his polishing, set the rifle against the
wall, and took the gloves in his hands.

"It is bright--almost like day--outside," he said a little yearningly.
"Are you--tired?"

His hint was obvious, even to Mukoki, who stared at him from under his
blanket. And David was not tired. If his afternoon's work had fatigued
him his exhaustion was forgotten in the mental excitement that had
followed the Missioner's story of Tavish. He took a pair of the gloves
in his hands, and nodded toward the door.

"You mean...."

Father Roland was on his feet.

"If you are not tired. It would give us a better stomach for sleep."

Mukoki rolled from his blanket, a grin on his leathery face. He tied the
wrist laces for them, and followed them out into the moonlit night, his
face a copper-coloured gargoyle illuminated by that fixed and joyous
grin. David saw the look and wondered