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"Very well, then; I shan't leave you; but you shall have that dress all the same," he says. "How shall we arrange about it?" "Yes, I do," says Mona, truthfully. "Just now, at least. Perhaps"—sadly—"when I am your age I sha'n't." "What's that?" asked Mona. "Don't speak of your mother as if she were a chromatic scale.".

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"Oh, never mind your young and innocent days: we never heard of them," says Dorothy, impatiently. "Do get on to it." The son-in-law did not know whether to believe this, and sent his oldest wife to ask the same question. When she came back and told him the same thing he believed that it was really a girl. Then he was glad, for he said to himself, "Now, when this child has grown up, I shall have another wife." He said to his youngest wife, "Take some back fat and pemmican over to your mother; she must be well fed now that she has to nurse this child." "While you still lived? While I might be of some use to you? No!" says Mona, her eyes gleaming. "To myself I said, there will be time enough for that later on." Then, with a little dry sob, "There will be time to die later on." "It is now my turn to demand obedience," says Mona, with a little wan attempt at a smile. "Will you make every hour of my life unhappy? Can I live in the thought that each minute may bring me evil news of you,—may bring me tidings of your death?" Here she gives way to a passionate burst of grief, and clings closer to him, as though with her soft arms to shield him from all danger. Her tears touch him..