ou'll take 'em."

Gratitude is a rare grace. The lack of it was one of the costly
defects in Roderick's character. No longer hungry, sitting before a
good fire with a well-filled pipe, even the cunning which usually
supplies the vacancy failed him; and Malcolm had to force himself to
put down to exhaustion the ungracious way in which his real sacrifice
was accepted.

In spite of hard work, they had only made thirty miles by sunset the
next day, and, there being no shelter, they were obliged to camp early
as light snow was falling. Yet it was a good Christmas night around
the blazing fire with the special cheer the old mother had packed into
the bread-boxes on their komatik. The following morning they did
better, reaching the landwash of a big inlet forty miles farther south
by noon. Here Malcolm had decided to turn back, for the remainder of
the trail to Long Point lay practically over level ice. Just as they
were saying good-bye, however, his quick eye detected something black
moving out on the bay.

"A fox, Mr. Norman. Look! A fox! And a black one too. You may be able
to pay for that barrel of flour before t' day's out."

They were both good furriers, and their plans were soon laid. The dogs
were quickly hitched up to stumps, and, glad of a rest, were easily
made to lie down. Alas, the men had only Malcolm's gun; but it was
arranged that he should go out and turn the fox, and Norman, hiding at
the third corner of the triangle, should try and shoot it passing or
lure it in range down wind.

Things went admirably. Malcolm by a long detour was able to turn the
fox from far out without frightening it. Roderick, well hidden, and
squeaking like a mouse, tolled it into easy range; and within an hour
the two men held in their hands a skin worth at least four hundred
dollars. It was agreed, at Roderick's suggestion, that he should carry
it home, as he was nearer the fur-buyers, take the first offer over
that sum, and then send the half due by the law of the woods to
Malcolm north by the earliest mail-carrier.

Malcolm added as he said good-bye, "I reckon maybe Father will want
to let t' barrel go as good luck on t' bargain."

Summer came, and open water with it, but the half value of that skin
never arrived. Later, in reply to Malcolm's enquiry by letter, a note
came to say that it was being held for a better price in the fall; and
with that he had to be content.

Winter followed summer, and when once again the "goin