rapping this, she
brought forth a formidable looking knife, and with intense eagerness
ran her small finger over the keen edge and sharp point. So satisfied
was she at the result of this performance that a low chuckle of
pleasure escaped her lips. Then, hastily concealing the weapon within
the folds of her shawl, she left the lodge and started for the store.

"Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Ding, dong." The sharp sound spit the
frosty air and stayed the feet of the little hurrying maid. She had
never refused to obey its summons, which spoke to her like a living
voice. To her childlike mind that dark thing hanging high aloft had a
great meaning. It was the centre of an unseen world, and many were the
strange and beautiful pictures she wove in her busy brain whenever the
bell sounded out its message. But this night it was speaking directly
to her in a warning sense. It seemed to understand her secret.

"Tell him. Tell him. Tell him," it was saying, over and over again.

She tried to go forward. She clutched the knife more firmly, and moved
a few steps. She paused again, as a sudden thought came into her mind.
Yes, she would listen to it. She would tell him first; after that
there would be time.

Turning to the left, she started toward the church. The bell had
ceased before she reached the building, and all was still. Pushing
open the door, she entered and slipped quietly into her accustomed
place in a back seat. The rows of bowed heads in front of her were
unseen; the altar, with its little wooden cross, flanked by the Ten
Commandments in the Indian tongue, did not interest her as on other
occasions, neither did the small mission harmonium, the delight of the
natives, which had cost such an effort to bring to Klassan. She saw
none of these. Her attention was fixed upon the kneeling form of the
missionary, repeating several of the prayers of the Church.

He was dressed just as he had come from the trail. Presently he arose
and began to speak. He was calm, to all outward appearance, terribly
calm, with not a hint of the seething furnace within.

"I am glad to be with you again," he told the Indians. "My heart has
been yearning for you all, and I have many messages from the
Gikhyi-Choh (the Bishop) of the Mackenzie River. His hair is white
now, and his steps feeble, so he cannot make long journeys as of old,
or else he would come to see you himself. Next year, before the ground
is white with snow, and