enough to profit
by the light, but far enough away to obtain a general view of everything
and everybody, proceeded with enthusiasm to sketch the whole affair,
collectively and in detail. He devoted his chief attention, however, to
Big Waller. He "caught" that gigantic Yankee in every conceivable
action and attitude. He photographed him, we might almost say, with his
legs apart, the hatchet high above his head, and every muscle tense and
rigid, preliminary to a sweeping blow. He "took" him with a monstrous
pile of logs on his brawny shoulder; he portrayed him resting for a
moment in the midst of his toil; he even attempted to delineate him
tumbling over one of the logs, and hurling a shoulder-load upon the
ground; but he failed utterly in the last attempt, being quite destitute
of comical perception, and he did not finally conclude until Gibault
went forward and informed him that supper was ready. Then he shut up
his book, and, taking his place beside the trappers, began supper.

"This is comfortable--this is pleasant!" remarked the artist, as he sat
down before the warm blaze, and applied himself with infinite relish to
the venison steak placed before him by Bounce. "You live well here, it
would seem."

This latter remark was addressed to Hawkswing, who sat close beside him;
but that imperturbable worthy shook his head gravely.

"He don't understand ye," interposed Bounce, "knows, nothin' but his own
mother tongue. We _do_ live pretty middlin' so so hereabouts when we
ain't starvin', w'ich it isn't for me to deny is sometimes the case,
d'ye see."

Bounce stopped his own talk at this point by stuffing his mouth so full
of meat that no word, not even a word of one syllable, could have forced
itself out, had it tried ever so much. A long silence now ensued,
during which the clack of seven pairs of active jaws was the only sound
that broke upon the ear. It might have been observed, however, that all
eyes were fixed more or less wonderingly on the stranger. Big Waller in
particular looked him, figuratively speaking, through and through. He
did not remove his eyes off him for an instant, but devoured his food
with somewhat the expression of a dog that expects his bone to be
snatched from him.

"Try a duck," said March Marston to the artist, observing that he had
finished his steak.

"Thank you," answered the artist, accepting the proffered bird, which
happened to be a teal, and beginning to carve it with a