hasn't had time to become hardened. Ben felt that
they would be friends.

[Illustration: SCOTTY AND BALDY]

"I like all kinds o' speakin', too; not jest the fiery sort that makes
you want t' fight fer your country, an' mebbe die fer it like Robert
Emmett; but the kind that jest makes you want t' be good ter folks an'
dogs, an' do the best you kin when things is agin you, an' you don't
see much ahead--"

The Woman nodded gravely. "Yes, I know. It's the most difficult sort of
bravery--the sort without flags, and music, and cheers to keep you up to
the firing line."

"That's the kind, ma'am. Mebbe you know Bishop Rowe. That's what he
preaches--jest doin' your best all the time, like you was in some big
race. When he's in Nome I allers go t' St. Mary's. He talks plain an'
simple, an' cheers you up--I guess kinda the way Lincoln talked--jest
like he knew all about people's troubles an' didn't blame 'em fer
mistakes, but wanted t' help 'em t' do better. Sometimes his talks don't
sound smooth, an' made up beforehand, but you never forgit 'em."

"Eloquence of the heart instead of the tongue," murmured the Woman.

"An' last August I went every night fer near a week, when Mr. Wickersham
was talkin' men inter sendin' him t' Washington, no matter what they
felt an' said agin his goin' when he wasn't before 'em."

"You have certainly had a variety of orators, and a wide range of
subjects."

"You kin see I ain't missed a single chanct t' hear any of 'em since I
made up my mind t' be a great man"--and then appalled by his lengthy
burst of eloquence the child colored violently and concluded in
confusion--"an' this mornin' I got so interested in them speeches o'
Daly's an' Fink's, I must 'a' lost all track o' time, fer when I come
out it was noon, an' Baldy was gone."

"You must indeed have been absorbed to forget Baldy. Where did you find
him?"

"One o' the school kids told me the pound-man had got him, so I went
over t' the pound on the Sand Spit as fast as I could run. I explained
t' the man that Baldy wasn't a Nome dog; that we live five miles out at
Golconda--but he said he was gittin' pretty sick o' that excuse. That no
boy's dog ever really lived in Nome, so fur's he could find out; that
all of 'em was residin' in the suburbs, an' only come in t' spend a day
now an' then."

"It's a strange thing," mused the Woman, "that all pound-men are
sarcastic and sceptical. It seems an inevitable part of their
occupation. They