.

A Song of Praise.
ROLF was lying by a fire when he came to, Quonab bending over him with a look of grave concern.

When he opened his eyes, the Indian smiled; such a soft, sweet smile, with long, ivory rows in its background.
Then he brought hot tea, and Rolf revived so he could sit up and tell the story of the morning.
"He is an evil Manito," and he looked toward the dead buck; "we must not eat him.

You surely made medicine to bring Skookum." "Yes, I made medicine with my mouth," was the answer, "I called, I yelled, when he came at me." "It is a long way from here to the cabin," was Quonab's reply.

"I could not hear you; Skookum could not hear you; but Cos Cob, my father, told me that when you send out a cry for help, you send medicine, too, that goes farther than the cry.