One still moonlit night, when the snow lay deep
and the cold was intense and all the trees were cracking like pistols in
the frost, a mournful howling rose all around their little cabin. Light
footfalls sounded on the crust; there were scratchings at the very door
and hoarse breathings at every crack; while the dogs, with hackles up
straight and stiff on their necks, fled howling under beds and tables.
And when Mooka and Noel went fearfully with their mother to the little
window--for the men were far away on a caribou hunt--there were gaunt
white wolves, five or six of them, flitting restlessly about in the
moonlight, scratching at the cracks and even raising themselves on their
hind legs to look in at the little windows.
Mooka shivered a bit when she remembered the uncanny scene, and felt
again the strong pressure of her mother's arms holding her close; but
Old Tomah brushed away her fears with a smile and a word, as he had
always done when, as little children, they had showed fear at the
thunder or the gale or the cry of a wild beast in the night, till they
had grown to look upon all Nature's phenomena as hiding a smile as
kindly as that of Old Tomah himself, who had a face wrinkled and
terribly grim, to be sure, but who could smile and tell a story so that
every child trusted him.
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