story."

CHAPTER V

BIRCH BARK MERCHANTS

Away over on Katson's Hill six high school boys, stripped to their
undershirts and trousers, were toiling hard, drenched in perspiration
and with hands considerably the worse for their hard work.

"What we're finding out is that it's one thing to strip bark for
fun, and quite another thing to take it off in pieces large enough
for a boat-builder," Dick Prescott declared.

"It isn't as fast work as I thought it would be, either," Dave
Darrin declared, running his knife slowly down the trunk of a
young birch.

"What we need is to bring a grindstone along with us," Tom Reade
grunted, as he examined the edge of the largest blade in his jackknife.
"I simply can't cut with this knife any more."

"I couldn't cut with a fine razor," declared Greg Holmes. "Look
at the blisters on my hands from the cutting I've already done."

"Never mind your aches and pains," comforted Dave Darrin. "We're
doing this to pay charges on our canoe, and Hiram Driggs has been
mighty kind about the whole business. Think of the fun we're
going to have when that canoe is launched; Now, fellows, Hiram
Driggs has been mighty good to us, so I want to propose a plan
for your approval. Whenever Driggs tells us that we've cut and
hauled enough birch bark to pay him, then we must come out here
and get still a few more loads, to pay him in good measure and
show that we appreciate his kindness. Never mind how much our
backs ache or our hands smart. Do you agree?"

"I'll fight any fellow in the crowd who doesn't agree," announced
Tom Reade.

"You can't get up a fight with me on that score," retorted Greg.
The others also quickly assented to Dave's plan.

By and by the youngsters halted for half an hour to eat the luncheons
they had brought with them. Then they went at their work again.

At half-past three o'clock in the afternoon they tied up in bundles
as much of the bark as each boy could carry, then started homeward.

"We ought to get home in time for supper," Dick declared hopefully.

It was about eight o'clock in the evening when they reached Greg's
gate. The return was harder than they had expected. The road
seemed to be twice as rough as it had been in the morning; they
were utterly fagged, and discovered that even a load of birch
bark can weigh a good deal under certain circumstances.

"Pile it up in the back of the yard," Greg suggested, "and we'll
take it around to Mr. Drigg