the thing he had to say could not be stayed, as though he must cram those precious seconds with his love-making—
Helen looked away and Taylor put the pipe stem between his teeth, relaxing, confused by what he had said, confused as well by the love song of the bird who had put into music the words that frothed to his lips and which he did not have the courage to speak—nor the right to speak, he suddenly remembered, and stirred uncomfortably.
Embarrassment held them mute until Pauguk, who had watched John ceaselessly, moved against her chain and muttered a threat.
"The men tell me you raised her from a pup," he said, because he felt that he must say something and this was all he could think to say.
Helen stretched her hand toward the dog.
"She must have been a month old when I took her. A collie of ours went wild and disappeared and was gone a year; men kept telling my father that they had seen her with the last wolf that was left in this country. Father didn't believe it until we found her in one of Black Joe's traps. The puppy was by her; they'd been traveling evidently.
"Joe killed the dog—she was very dangerous then—and brought the pup in to show us. They were all for killing her, but somehow the little thing, backed in a corner, ready to fight with its milk teeth, seemed so pathetic and helpless and courageous that I couldn't let them—Too, I thought it would be quite a triumph to make her my friend. It was; and a very hard job."
"You like to do the difficult things."
