A paper on the table rustled, a series of squeaks came from the bunk, he felt something that was like a gentle touch on the toe of his moccasin, and looked down.

The cabin was alive with mice! It was filled with the restless movement of them--little bright-eyed creatures who moved about him without fear, and, he thought, expectantly.

He had not moved an inch when Father Roland came again into the cabin.

He pointed to the floor.
"The place is alive with them!" he protested.
Father Roland appeared in great good humour as he slipped off his mittens and rubbed his hands over the stove.
"Tavish's pets," he chuckled.

"He says they're company.