blows to-night."

He finished; both stood for a moment gazing into the fire. Then Rolf
felt something wet and cold thrust into his hand. It was Skookum's nose.
At last the little dog had made up his mind to accept the white boy as a
friend.

Chapter 7. Rolf Works Out with Many Results

He is the dumbest kind of a dumb fool that ain't king in
some little corner.--Sayings of Si Sylvanne

The man who has wronged you will never forgive you, and he who has
helped you will be forever grateful. Yes, there is nothing that draws
you to a man so much as the knowledge that you have helped him.

Quonab helped Rolf, and so was more drawn to him than to many of the
neighbours that he had known for years; he was ready to like him.
Their coming together was accidental, but it was soon very clear that a
friendship was springing up between them. Rolf was too much of a child
to think about the remote future; and so was Quonab. Most Indians are
merely tall children.

But there was one thing that Rolf did think of--he had no right to
live in Quonab's lodge without contributing a fair share of the things
needful. Quonab got his living partly by hunting, partly by fishing,
partly by selling baskets, and partly by doing odd jobs for the
neighbours. Rolf's training as a loafer had been wholly neglected,
and when he realized that he might be all summer with Quonab he said
bluntly:

"You let me stay here a couple of months. I'll work out odd days, and
buy enough stuff to keep myself any way." Quonab said nothing, but their
eyes met, and the boy knew it was agreed to.

Rolf went that very day to the farm of Obadiah Timpany, and offered to
work by the day, hoeing corn and root crops. What farmer is not glad of
help in planting time or in harvest? It was only a question of what did
he know and how much did he want? The first was soon made clear; two
dollars a week was the usual thing for boys in those times, and when he
offered to take it half in trade, he was really getting three dollars a
week and his board. Food was as low as wages, and at the end of a week,
Rolf brought back to camp a sack of oatmeal, a sack of cornmeal, a
bushel of potatoes, a lot of apples, and one dollar cash. The dollar
went for tea and sugar, and the total product was enough to last them
both a month; so Rolf could share the wigwam with a good conscience.

Of course, it was impossible to keep the gossipy little town of Myanos
from knowing, first, t