See!"
He pushed his paper with its awkwardly formed letters farther into
the lamp's light. The edge of the precious paper took fire, and with
a cry of alarm, Anvik smothered his paper in the snow.
His brother laughed again.
"To-morrow will be another day," he said. "Why should anybody learn
for to-morrow?"
But the mother of the two lads stretched out her hand, and took the
paper, and looked at the straggling marks. The fat baby, that she
carried in the hood of her reindeer suit, crowed over her shoulder
at the piece of paper, and Anvik forgot to be angry. He put his
pencil in his mother's hand. She looked curiously at the strange new
thing.
"You make A, too, mother," urged the boy; and, putting his hand on
his mother's, he tried to show her how to make the strange marks.
His mother did little more than touch the paper with the pencil. She
smiled at the tiny dark line she had made, and gave back the pencil
and paper to the boy. She was proud of him, proud that the strange
white man should have thought her boy good enough to give him such
queer things. Anvik saw her pride, and felt comforted.
"To-morrow will be another day," murmured Tanana from his lounging
place. "The teacher is wrong. He makes that loud sound when school
begins. The wise man says the teacher must not make that sound any
more, for it will prevent our people from catching foxes and seals.
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