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LavgHinGg Boy 295 He let his arms fall. ‘Thanks!’ He rearranged the fire to make a lasting, small flame, enough to melt snow in the coffee-pot for drinking and refreshing his hands and face. He looked over towards the niche, a shadowy place: the rocks on each side of it were touched irregu- larly with sunlight. I nearly lost you, little sister, but now I have you for always. He began praying again, quietly and earnestly, not in set terms, but according to his need. He had come out of that closet in himself now, and things had fitted back into place. He was grave, and there would be many times when he would go by himself to feel a belovéd pain, but regret for the knowledge of happiness that had made that pain possible was ended. He had a clear con- science to pray. He built his sweat-lodge, and, since it was hard to get mud out of the frozen ground, covered it with blankets. In the mid-afternoon he put in the hot rocks, stripped, and entered. He had made it good and hot; he sat in there chanting as long as he could stand it, then he burst out, rolled in the snow, and dressed hastily. He felt infinitely better. He looked at the sun, low in the west; the fourth day was ended. He felt clear-headed, peaceful, washed, and