milk cows and make
butter; he went irregularly to the village for the raw food they
needed, talked the merchant into giving him a line of credit, and
surveyed the valley all the way home with the pride of Noah after the
flood. He developed into so good a cook that A. P. declared there must
have been a chef in the family away back.

The first crop the boys had was good because it was not very big. They
sold their early garden-stuff at a big price to the C.P.R., and in the
fall got twenty dollars a ton for their potatoes--on the ground. Every
drop of milk they could spare found a ready market in the village;
often they exchanged it for butter. And those hens of theirs made
good; they made very good. A. P. insisted on eating all the eggs, but
Evan managed to hide away enough each week to buy sugar, tea and bread.
It must be admitted, however, that bread was more frequently absent
from than present at the board; crackers and ginger-snaps made edible
substitutes.

When the first winter set in the bachelors of "Bachelors' Shack"--it
was not a bungalow yet--were prepared for it. They had money in the
bank.

"It's me for a Jew's harp and a line of novels," said Henty; "no
lumbering for mine this winter. I'm all calloused from wrestling with
our valley."

Nevertheless A. P. could not content himself to read longer than a week
at a time. He made irregular excursions into the village and juggled
scantling in a new lumber yard. Evan wanted to go, too, but Henty
grunted in disgust--and Nelson agreed to stay home and tend the stock.
The sow old man Henty had given them raised a family. One of the pigs
was killed for meat, and the others were dressed and sold to a butcher.

The winter was mild, and there was enough snow to protect and fertilize
the ground. It was a good winter for the young bachelors; the
wood-chopping they did gave them health abundant, their chores kept
Henty's superfluous masculinity worked off and taught Nelson the
practical way of things, and the simple food they ate gave their minds
an appetite for knowledge.

With all their wood-cutting and chores, though, the boys had more spare
time than they knew how to dispose of. Often in the evenings they
played cards, sang duets from a book of old songs, or read. To say
they were always content would not be true; many a time they felt the
weight of the great Silence about them, and above all they longed for
the fleeting image of a girl. If they coul