24 
Northern Trails . Book I 
and scratching in the tangled harness, just like the 
husky dogs in winter. Mooka was trying to untangle 
them, dancing about to keep her bare toes and fingers 
away from the nipping claws, when she jumped up 
with a yell, the biggest crab hanging to the end of 
her finger. 
“ Owee! oweeeee! Caesar bit me,” she wailed. Then 
she stopped, with finger in her mouth, while Caesar 
scrambled headlong into the tide; for Noel was stand¬ 
ing on the beach pointing at a brown sail far down in 
the deep bay, where Southeast Brook came singing from 
the green wilderness. 
“ Ohe, Mooka! there’s father and Old Tomah come 
back from salmon fishing.” 
“ Let’s go meet um, little brother,” said Mooka, her 
black eyes dancing; and in a wink crabs and sledges 
( were forgotten. The old punt was off in a shake, the 
tattered sail up, skipper Noel lounging in the stern, 
like an old salt, with the steering oar, while the crew, 
forgetting her nipped finger, tugged valiantly at the 
main-sheet. 
They were scooting away gloriously, rising and pound¬ 
ing the waves, when Mooka, who did not have to steer 
and whose restless glance was roving over every bay 
and hillside, jumped up, her eyes round as lynx’s. 
“ Look, Noel, look ! There’s Megaleep again watching 
us.” And Noel, following her finger, saw far up on the 
