makin's in you of a fine trapper and hunter. You fits
yourself to what you has to meet and to do, whether 'tis a bit hard or
whether 'tis easy. 'Twere a long way for young legs that's not used to
un. Bein' on the path settin' up traps is a wonderful sight different
from bein' snug and warm with a good bed o' nights at home. You lads
stands un like old hands at un."

"Thank you, Skipper," and Charley was proud, as was Toby, at the word of
praise. Every one likes to be praised for an act well done, or done to
the best of one's ability, and Skipper Zeb, who in a crude way was a
student of human nature, and carried a gentle, affectionate heart in his
bosom, never failed to speak a word of praise where it was deserved. He
knew that a kindly word of appreciation for a deed well done, often
proved an incentive to greater effort. A little flower handed to the
living is better than a wreath placed upon the casket of the dead.
Skipper Zeb gave his flowers of kindliness to those about him while they
lived and could enjoy them.

"Now, lads," said Skipper Zeb when they had finished their evening meal,
and he was puffing his pipe comfortably by the warm stove, "I has a line
o' traps to set up to the east'ard of the tilt that I weren't settin'
up before we goes in, and two days' work to do about here whatever.
We've been havin' a long spell o' fine weather like we mostly has before
winter sets in hard. The wind is shiftin', and before to-morrow night,
whatever, there'll be snow. Early in the marnin' I thinks you had better
start back with the boat, and be gettin' snug at Double Up Cove before
the snow comes."

"When'll you be gettin' home, Dad?" asked Toby.

"I'll be gettin' home the Saturday or Sunday before Christmas,
whatever," promised Skipper Zeb, "and I'll be stayin' for a fortnight
holiday when I comes."

"Won't you be home before then?" asked Charley in astonishment.

"No, I has to keep tendin' the traps once I sets un," explained Skipper
Zeb. "'Tis the only way to get fur."

"I should think you'd get dreadfully lonesome on the trail alone," said
Charley, "and we'll miss you."

"A busy man's not havin' time to get lonesome. 'Tis only idleness that
makes for lonesomeness."

The sky was heavily clouded the following morning, and a brisk
northeasterly breeze, cold and raw, was blowing. Toby and Charley bade
good-bye to Skipper Zeb, and hoisting the sail departed for Double Up
Cove.

"The breeze'll be helpin' you now,