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"But you have nothing to sit on."
Having said all this without a break, Jenkins feels he has outdone himself, and retires on his laurels.
"It was," says Nicholas, feeling a reply can no longer be shirked. Then he says, "Ahem!" and turns his glance confidingly upon the carpet.
"How strange it is!" says Mona's voice, that has now a faint shade of sadness in it. "How people come and go in one's lives, like the waves of the restless sea, now breaking at one's feet, now receding, now——"
It is quite too much for the Æsthetic.
"You will introduce me to your wife?" she asks, after a few minutes, in her even, trainante voice, and is then taken up to the big arm-chair before the fire, and is made known to Mona.
"Why is this, grandmother?" asked Kŭt-o-yĭs´. "Have you no food better than this to give to a visitor? Down there I see a piskun; you must kill plenty of buffalo and must have good food."
"A week? I should be dead when you came back," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, with some vehemence, and a glance that shows she can dissolve into tears at a moment's notice.
"Yes; it was her that called last week," returns her amiable mother-in-law, laying an unmistakable stress upon the pronoun.
CHAPTER XXI.
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"What greedy little things!" cries she aloud, with the merriest laugh in the world. "Sure you can't eat more than enough, can you? an' do your best! Oh, Brownie," reproachfully, "what a selfish bird you are!"
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"I will help you. Bring only a knife."
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This is fortunate. Every one feels that Nicholas is not only clever, but singularly lucky.
The father took his pipe and filled it, and smoked and prayed to all the powers, saying, "Hear now, Sun; listen, Above People; listen, Underwater People; now you have taken pity; now you have given us food. We are going to those mysterious ones who walk through water with dry moccasins. Protect us among these to-be-feared people. Let us live. Man, woman, and child, give us long life."
It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into eternity; midnight is at hand!