y, put the kettle on; we'll all have--' My eye! where's
the kettle, Hamilton? have you eaten it?"

"If you compose yourself a little, Harry, and look at the fire, you'll
see it boiling there."

"Man, what a chap you are for making unnecessary speeches! Couldn't you
tell me to look at the fire, without the preliminary piece of advice to
_compose_ myself! Besides, you talk nonsense, for I'm composed already,
of blood, bones, flesh, sinews, fat, and--"

"Humbug!" interrupted the accountant. "Lend a hand to get supper, you
young goose!"

"And so," continued Harry, not noticing the interruption, "I cannot be
expected, nor is it necessary, to _compose_ myself over again. But to
be serious," he added, "it was very kind and considerate of you, Hammy,
to put on the kettle, when your heels were in a manner uppermost."

"Oh, it was nothing at all; my heels are much better, thank you, and it
kept me from wearying."

"Poor fellow!" said the accountant, while he busied himself in preparing
their evening meal, "you must be quite ravenous by this time--at least
_I_ am, which is the same thing."

Supper was soon ready. It consisted of a large kettle of tea, a lump of
pemmican, a handful of broken biscuit, and three ptarmigan,--all of
which were produced from the small wooden box which the accountant was
wont to call his camp-larder. The ptarmigan had been shot two weeks
before, and carefully laid up for future use; the intense frost being a
sufficient guarantee for their preservation for many months, had that
been desired.

It would have done you good, reader (supposing you to be possessed of
sympathetic feelings), to have witnessed those three nor'-westers
enjoying their supper in the snowy camp. The fire had been replenished
with logs, till it roared and crackled again, as if it were endued with
a vicious spirit, and wished to set the very snow in flames. The walls
shone like alabaster studded with diamonds, while the green boughs
overhead and the stems around were of a deep red colour in the light of
the fierce blaze. The tea-kettle hissed, fumed, and boiled over into
the fire. A mass of pemmican simmered in the lid in front of it. Three
pannikins of tea reposed on the green branches, their refreshing
contents sending up little clouds of steam, while the ptarmigan, now
split up, skewered, and roasted, were being heartily devoured by our
three hungry friends.

The pleasures that fall to the lot of man are transie