The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-08-24
Biz Shows Author of 1.-The
 Danger 1rrail''

York factory, and after that 1t might be gone forever. so that when Melisse grew up there would be none nearer than what Jan looked upon as the oth- CT end of the world. Why could not he go to school for Melisse and store up treasures which in time be might turn over to her?
 The scheme was a colossal one, by all odds the largest that had ever entered into his dreams of what life held for him. It was not until the first cold chi1ls of approaching winter crept down from the north and east that he told Cummins of his intention.
 Once his mind was settled Jan lost no time in putting his plans into ac- ton. Mukee knew the trail to Church i'll and agreed to leave with him on the third day, which gave Williams wife time to make him a new coat of carl bou skin.
 On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin, and after Melisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms and held her there for long time, while Cummfns looked on in silence. When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall Cummins put one of his long arms about the boys shoulders and led him to the door, where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of the forest that rose black and silent against the starlit background of the sky.
 Boy, won't you tell me who you are and why you came that night?'
 q will tell you now that come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan. T am only Jan Thoreau, an ze great God made me come that night because his heart throbbed with sudden tn- spiration as he looked up into his com l panion's ace-"because ze leetle Me l lisse was here," he finished.
 For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back ] into the cabin, and from the little ging- 1 ham covered box in the corner he took buckskin bag.
 You are going to Churchill for Me l lisse and for her," he said in voice pitched low that it might not awaken l the baby. Take this"
 Jan drew a step back.
 "No, I fin work with ze compan-ee at Churchill That is ze gold for Me hsse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no-what you call heemY
 His teeth gleamed in smile, but 1t lasted only for an instant. Cummins' I face darkened, and he caught him ] firmly, almost roughly, by the arm. 'Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Melisse," he exclaimed with f1nality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school and not to work with your hands. They are sending you. Do you understand, boy? They" There was fierce tremor in his voice. Which will it be? will you take the bag or will you never again come back to Lac BainY'
 Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush burned in his cheeks. Cummins look ed in wonder upon the strange look that came into his eyes.
 T pay back this gold to you and Me lisse a hundred timesy' he cried tense 1 ly. "I swear it, an swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lier'
 Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had stretched out his other arm to the violin hang ing against the wall. Cumn1ins turned to look. When he faced him again the boys arm had fallen to his side and his cheeks were white. The next day Jan left.
 It was a long winter for Cummins and Melisse. It was longer one for Jan. He had taken with him letter from the factor at Lac Bain to the fac tor at Churchill, and he found quarters with the chief clerks assistant at the post-a young, red faced man named Mcdonald, who had come over on the ship from England. He was cheer full, good natured young fellow, and l when he learned that his new associate had tramped all the way from the Bar ren Lands to attend the new public school, he at once invested himself with the responsibilities of a private l tutor.
 The school opened in November, and Jan found himself one of twenty or so gathered there from 10000 square | miles of wilderness Two white youths and half breed had come | Fro,,o tho Fo o+ Al