<h2 id="c15"><br/>CHAPTER XV <br/>AN OLD MAN OF THE NORTH</h2>
<p>Having walked resolutely to the black hole in
the snow bank, Marian looked within. There
was no door; merely an opening here. A dim
lamp in the distance sent an uncertain and
ghostly light down the corridor. By this light
she made out numerous posts and saw that a
narrow passage-way ran between them.</p>
<p>There was something so mysterious about the
place that she hesitated on the threshold. At
that moment a thought flashed through her
mind, a startling and disheartening thought.</p>
<p>“Radio,” she murmured, “nothing but radio.”</p>
<p>She was convinced in an instant that her solution
of the origin of the wonderful music was
correct.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div>
<p>The persons who lived in this strange dwelling,
which reminded her of pictures she had seen of
the dens and caves of robbers and brigands, had
somehow come into possession of a powerful
radio receiving set. Somewhere in Nome, or
Fairbanks, or perhaps even in Seattle—a noted
musician was giving an organ recital. This radio
set with its loud speaker had picked up the music
and had faithfully reproduced it. That was all
there was to the mystery. There was no pipe
organ, no skillful musician out here in the forest
wilderness. It had been stupid of her to think
there might be.</p>
<p>This revelation, for revelation it surely seemed
to be, was both disappointing and disturbing.
Disappointing, because in her adventure-loving
soul she had hoped to discover here in the wilderness
a thing that to all appearances could not
be—a modern miracle. Disturbing it was, too,
for since a mere instrument, a radio-phone, has
no soul, the character of the person who operated
it might be anything at all. She could not conceive
of the person who actually touched the keys
and caused that divine music to pour forth as a
villain. Any sort of person, however, might
snap on the switch that sends such music vibrating
from the horn of the loud speaker of a radiophone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div>
<p>For a full five minutes she wavered between
two courses of action; to go on inside this den,
or to go back to Attatak and attempt to pass it
unobserved.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was the touch of a finger on what
she supposed to be a far off key—the resuming
of the music; perhaps it was her own utter weariness
that decided her at last. Whatever it was,
she set a resolute foot inside the entrance, and
the next instant found herself carefully picking
her way down the dark passage toward the dim
lamp.</p>
<p>To her surprise, when she at last reached the
lamp that hung over a door, she found not an
oil lamp, but a small electric light bulb.</p>
<p>“Will marvels never cease?” she whispered.</p>
<p>For a second she hesitated. Should she knock?
She hated spying; yet the door stood invitingly
ajar. If the persons within did not appear to
be the sort of persons a girl might trust; if she
could see them and remain unobserved, there was
still opportunity for flight.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div>
<p>Acting upon this impulse, she peered through
the crack in the door.</p>
<p>Imagine her surprise upon seeing at the far
end of a long, high-ceilinged, heavily timbered
room, not a radio horn, but a pipe organ.</p>
<p>“So,” she breathed, “my first thought was
right. That enchanting music <i>was</i> produced on
the spot. And by such a musician!”</p>
<p>Seated with his side toward her, was the bent
figure of an old man. His long, flowing white
beard, his snowy locks, the dreamy look upon his
face as his fingers drifted back and forth across
the keys, reminded her of pictures she had seen
of ancient bards playing upon golden harps.</p>
<p>“‘Harp of the North that mouldering long
has hung,’” she recited in a low voice.</p>
<p>The fingers on the keys suddenly ceased their
drifting, the dreamy look faded from the musician’s
face. A smile lighted his eyes as, turning
about, he spoke in a cheery voice:</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div>
<p>“Come in. I have been waiting for you. You
are welcome to an old man’s lonely house; doubly
welcome, coming as you do in time for Sunday
vespers.”</p>
<p>This strange, almost uncanny proceeding so
startled the girl that for a second she was
tempted to turn and flee. The next second she
had complete control of herself. Pushing the
door open, as if entering the chamber of the king
of fairies, she made a little bow and said:</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Then, realizing how perfectly absurd her action
had been, she broke into a hearty laugh and
in this laugh the old man joined.</p>
<p>So, with the ice broken, they became friends
at once.</p>
<p>To her vast relief she found that the old man,
though he had undoubtedly been expecting them
or someone else, did not know all about them.
He asked if they travelled with dog team or reindeer.
Upon being told that they drove reindeer,
he smiled and said:</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div>
<p>“Good. It’s lucky I have feed for your deer.
Reindeer people seldom come this way. Once
I was caught unprepared to entertain them, so
last autumn I put in a good stock of moss and
willow leaves. Your deer shall be safely housed
and richly fed, and so shall you. Go bring them
at once. Or shall I go with you?”</p>
<p>“Oh no; that is not necessary,” Marian hastened
to assure him.</p>
<p>“Very well then, while you go I will put the
birds on to broil. You are doubtless very
hungry.”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later Marian was chattering to
Attatak:</p>
<p>“The queerest place you ever saw; and the
strangest old gentleman. But really, I think he
is a dear.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div>
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