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Updated: May 7, 2025
The Boy came forward and shook hands as though he hadn't seen him for a month. "This," says he, turning first to Mac and then to the other white men, "this is Prince Nicholas of Pymeut. Walk right in, all of you, and have something to eat." The visitors sat on the ground round the stove, as close as they could get without scorching, and the atmosphere was quickly heavy with their presence.
"What did she go on like that for, then?" "Oh-h! She know Joe savvy." The Boy felt painfully small at his own lack of savoir, but no less angry. "When you marry" he turned to her incredulously "will it be" again the shrieks "like this?" "I no marry Pymeut."
"Grasshoppah sett'n on a swee' p'tater vine," The Boy droned sleepily as he untied the leathern thongs that kept up his muckluck legs "Swee' p'tater vine, swee' p'ta " "All those othahs" the Colonel waved a hand in the direction of Pymeut "I think we dreamed 'em, Boy. You and me playing the Big Game with Fohtune. Foolishness! Klondyke? Yoh crazy.
On the fifth day after the Blow-Out, "You comin' long to Pymeut this mornin'?" he asked the Colonel. "What's the rush?" "Rush! Good Lord! it's 'most a week since they were here. And it's stopped snowin', and hasn't thought of sleetin' yet or anything else rambunksious. Come on, Colonel."
Gee! the wind's stronger! Say, Colonel, let's rig a sail." "Foolishness." "No, sir. We'll go by Pymeut in an ice-boat, lickety split. And it'll be a good excuse for not stopping, though I think we ought to say good-bye to Nicholas." This view inclined the Colonel to think better of an ice-boat.
Nicholas had heard, too, for he threw down the tattered deerskin, and went to the other side of the fire. Voices in the tunnel. Nicholas held back the flap and gravely waited there, till one Pymeut after another crawled in.
Nicholas of Pymeut must not be allowed to think it was only Jesuits who remembered the Sabbath day to keep it holy. And the three "pore benighted heathen" along with him, if they didn't understand English words, they should have an object-lesson, and Mac would himself pray the prayers they couldn't utter for themselves. The Boy did his stoking gloomily, reading aright these portents.
"If Nicholas think he die, he drag him out leave him in the snow." "Never!" "Sh!" she made him a sign to be quiet. The rambling fever-talk went on, Nicholas listening fascinated. "No Pymeut," she whispered, "like live in ighloo any more if man die there." "You mean, if they know a person's dying they haul him out o' doors and leave him a night like this?" "If not, how get him out ... after?"
But it's the Story-teller who helps his people through the long winter helps them to face the terrible new enemies, epidemic disease and famine. He has always been their best defence against that age-old dread they all have of the dark. Yes, no one better able to send such foes flying than Yagorsha of Pymeut. Still, Nicholas is a good second." The Prince of Pymeut shook his head.
"We've had to turn ze schools into wards for our patients," he explained to the stranger. "We do little now but nurse ze sick and prepare ze dying. Ze Muzzer Superieure has broken down after heroic labours. Paul, I fear, is sickening too. Yes, it's true: ze disease came to us from Pymeut."
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