"And I want you to promise me, now, that you will not interfere in my
life that way, by word or deed."
"I'll not promise."
"But you must."
"I'll not. Further, it's gettin' cold on the stoop, an' ye'll be
frostin' yer toes, the pink little toes I fished splinters out iv at
Dyea. So it's in with ye, Frona girl, an' good-night."
He thrust her inside and departed. When he reached the corner he
stopped suddenly and regarded his shadow on the snow. "Matt McCarthy,
yer a damned fool! Who iver heard iv a Welse not knowin' their own
mind? As though ye'd niver had dalin's with the stiff-necked breed, ye
calamitous son iv misfortune!"
Then he went his way, still growling deeply, and at every growl the
curious wolf-dog at his heels bristled and bared its fangs.
CHAPTER XVII
"Tired?"
Jacob Welse put both hands on Frona's shoulders, and his eyes spoke the
love his stiff tongue could not compass. The tree and the excitement
and the pleasure were over with, a score or so of children had gone
home frostily happy across the snow, the last guest had departed, and
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were blending into one.
She returned his fondness with glad-eyed interest, and they dropped
into huge comfortable chairs on either side the fireplace, in which the
back-log was falling to ruddy ruin.
"And this time next year?" He put the question seemingly to the
glowing log, and, as if in ominous foreshadow, it flared brightly and
crumbled away in a burst of sparks.
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