Noel and Mooka 
3 1 
escape the cold and the fearful blizzards of the coast. 
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 fear¬ 
fully 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 rest¬ 
lessly 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. 
The wolves were hungry, starving hungry, he said, and 
