un whilst they're warm. 'Tis easier to do
than after they gets cold. 'Twill give us a bit of time to rest."

"Why didn't the others fly after you shot the first ones?" asked
Charley. "I expected they'd be frightened and all fly away after the
first shot."

"That's the way with spruce pa'tridges," explained Skipper Zeb. "They
has a wonderful foolish way with un. They don't fly when you shoots.
They're so tame you could almost knock un over with a stick. They flies
in a tree when we comes, thinkin' we're like a fox and can't climb a
tree, and knowin' nothin' about guns there they sets and lets us shoot
un."

To Skipper Zeb and Toby, the shooting of the grouse had meant no more
than a means of securing necessary food. In that land where there are no
domestic animals or birds, men must hunt the wild things to supply their
table, just as a farmer in civilized lands kills chickens from his flock
to supply his table. Charley assisted in plucking the birds, and
silently admiring the marksmanship of his companions, determined that
he, too, would learn to shoot well.

The sun had risen, and the winter forest gleamed and sparkled under its
rays. Through the trees the waters of the bay glinted like molten
silver. The air was redolent with forest fragrance. An impudent Labrador
Jay[3] scolding them in its harsh voice, came so close that Charley
could almost have caught it with his bare hands. Chickadees[4] chirped
in the trees. A three-toed arctic woodpecker hammered industriously upon
a tree trunk. In the distance a red squirrel chattered happily and
noisily.

A thrill of exultation tingled Charley's spine. He was doing the very
thing that his father had believed too hard for him to do, and in a
wilder country than his father had ever seen. How proud and pleased his
father would be when he reached home and told of what he had seen and
done! It would compensate for all the suffering at his supposed loss.

"Plenty of rabbits this year," remarked Toby, calling Charley's
attention to a network of tracks that covered the snow. "We'll be
settin' snares for un. 'Tis great sport."

"Oh, can we snare them?" said Charley. "That will be great."

"Aye," promised Toby, "and we'll be settin' marten traps too. Here's
some marten signs now. There's fine signs of marten this year."

"You catch martens for the fur, don't you?" asked Charley.

"Aye," answered Toby. "They has wonderful fine fur. Weren't you ever
seein' a marten?"

"No,"