It isn't travel you want, David.
It's blood--_red_ blood.

And for putting blood into you, and courage, and joy of just living and breathing, there's nothing on the face of the earth like--_that_!" He reached an arm past David and pointed to the night beyond the car window.
"You mean the storm, and the snow----" "Yes; storm, and snow, and sunshine, and forests--the tens of thousands of miles of our Northland that you've seen only the edges of.

That's what I mean.

But, first of all"-- and again the Little Missioner rubbed his hands--"first of all, I'm thinking of the supper that's waiting for us at Thoreau's.

Will you get off and have supper with me at the Frenchman's, David?
After that, if you decide not to go up to God's Lake with me, Thoreau can bring you and your luggage back to the station with his dog team.