Father Roland watched the dogs, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

Thoreau was showing his big, white teeth, as if proud of something.
"Not a bad tooth among them, _mon Pere_," he said.

"Not one!" "Fine--fine--but a little too fat, Thoreau.

You're feeding them too well for dogs out of the traces," replied Father Roland.
David gasped.
"Too _well_!" he exclaimed.

"They're half starved, and almost frozen! Look at the poor devils swallow those fish, ice and all! Why don't you cook the fish?
Why don't you give them some sort of shelter to sleep in ?" Father Roland and the Frenchman stared at him as if they did not quite catch his meaning.