with gray. The startling and outstanding feature, however, was one lock as white as snow, crowning the right temple. This was not due to age nor to any outward cause, but was evidently a family characteristic. Such a lock would have singled out the owner in any gathering for special and curious attention.
When the soup was warm enough, Hugo dipped out a portion into a tin cup which he carried over to where the child was lying.
“Come, little chap,” he began, “here’s something nice.”
Forced by hunger the lad scrambled quickly to its knees, and drank eagerly from the cup held to its lips.
“More,” he demanded when the last drop had been drained.
“Ho, ho, that’s good!” Hugo chuckled, as he went back to the stove and dipped out another helping. “There’s nothing like ptarmigan soup for an appetizer. I guess, my little man, you’re older than I thought.”
When the child had been fed to its satisfaction, Hugo sat down upon the edge of the bunk and gave himself up to serious thoughts. What was he to do with the boy? That was the question which agitated his mind. He could not keep him, that was certain. He must hand him over to someone who knew more about children than he did. But where could he take him? To whom could he turn for assistance? Swift Stream was out of the question. Besides being too far away it was the last place where he wanted to go. But what about Kynox? He did not want to go there, either. But it was nearer than Swift Stream, and less dangerous. Yes, it must be Kynox, and the sooner he got there the better.
He was staring straight before him as he thus made
