pruce logs and hackmatack; comfortable, indeed, was it to
be thus snugly housed, while the weather outside was so lowering, and the
schooner wet and cold with rain. To be sure, our gay and festive hall was
not so brilliant as some, but it was none the less acceptable on that
account; and, before long, a fragrant rasher of bacon, fresh eggs, white
bread, and a strong cup of bitter tea made us feel entirely happy. Then
these viands being removed, there came pipes and tobacco; and as something
else was needed to crown the symposium, Picton whispered a word in the ear
of Bruce, who presently disappeared, to return again after a brief
absence, with some of our stores from the schooner. Then the table was
decked again, with china mugs of dazzling whiteness, lemons, hot water,
and a bottle of old Glenlivet; and from the centre of this gallant show,
the one great lamp of the hutch cast its mellow radiance around, and
nursed in the midst of its flame a great ball of red coal that burned like
a bonfire. Then, when our host, the old fisherman, brought out a bundle of
warm furs, of moose and cariboo skins, and distributed them around on the
settles and broad, high-backed benches, so that we could loll at our ease,
we began to realize a sense of being quite snug and cozy, and, indeed, got
used to it in a surprisingly short space of time.

"Now, then," said Picton, "this is what I call serene," and the traveller
relapsed into his usual activity; after a brief respite--"I say, give us
a song, will you, now, some of you; something about this jolly old place,
now--'Brave Wolfe,' or 'Boscawen,'" and he broke out--

"'My name d'ye see's Tom Tough, I've seen a little sarvice,
Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow;
I've sailed with noble Howe, and I've sailed with noble Jarvis,
And in Admiral Duncan's fleet I've sung yeo, heave, yeo!
And more ye must be knowin',
I was cox'son to Boscawen
When our fleet attacked Louisburgh,
And laid her bulwarks low.
But push about the grog, boys!
Hang care, it killed a cat,
Push about the grog, and sing--
Yeo, heave, yeo!'"

"Good Lord!" said the old fisherman, "I harn't heard that song for more'n
thirty years. Sing us another bit of it, please."

But Picton had not another bit of it; so he called lustily for some one
else to sing. "Hang it, sing something," said th