an added flavour of joy. All of
them were keenly anxious that he see the silver fox pelt, and Toby
declared he could hardly wait to show it to him.

"'Twill be a rare treat for he, now," said Toby.

It was an event, indeed. Even Skipper Zeb had never in all his life
caught a silver fox. Toby and Charley were justly proud, too, of their
success in catching martens. Skipper Zeb had smiled indulgently when
Toby had told him that with Charley's help he would set some marten
traps, and Skipper Zeb's only remark had been, "'Twill be fine practice
for you lads," never expecting that they would get a pelt. Indeed,
Toby's previous winter's trapping had resulted in nothing but rabbits,
but that was due, Toby had complained, to the fact that his mother had
not permitted him to go so far alone into the forest. But this year he
was older, and with Charley's companionship she had made no restrictions
upon bounds.

"And there are the wolf skins," said Toby. "I wants Charley to take un
home with he when he goes next summer on the mail boat. Twere he that
fought for un, and they belongs to he."

"Aye, they belongs to Charley," agreed Mrs. Twig, "and half the martens
too. If 'tweren't for Charley bein' here to go along with you, you
couldn't have got un, with all the work you were havin' to do with the
wood, to make you bide home. If Charley were havin' a rifle when he
meets the wolves he'd have got more of un, and the dogs wouldn't have
got cut up so bad."

"I wish I had a rifle," Charley suggested eagerly. "I've got sixty
dollars my father gave me before I left him. Is there anywhere I could
buy one with that?"

"You'll be needin' that to pay your passage back home," Mrs. Twig
counseled. "You needs some warm underclothes, and I'm thinkin' now you
and Toby might take the dogs and komatik and go to Skipper Cy Blink's
tradin' store at Deer Harbour, and take three of the marten skins and
trade un in for a rifle and what you needs, and Toby can get some things
we're needin' in the house."

"Oh, I wish we could!" Charley exclaimed. "But the skins aren't really
mine," he added more soberly. "I owe you a lot for keeping me here, and
for all you've done for me, but Dad will pay you for that when I get
home."

"You owes us nothing," declared Mrs. Twig, a little out of patience that
Charley should have suggested it. "You pays for all you gets in work,
and half the skins be yours, whatever."

"Thank you," said Charley gratefully, "but