When finally they climbed the ladder to their bunks the rain had ceased and a brilliant moon flooded the valley with a white light.
Donald awakened as the first grey streaks of dawn brightened the dusty windows of the loft. The air was suddenly filled with the sweet song of birds. Wild-fowl quacked and splashed in the waters of the lake. The aroma of coffee and frying bacon and the pungent odour of wood smoke was wafted strongly from below.
Suddenly the trapper’s shaggy head protruded through the opening at the top of the ladder. “Get out o’ the hay an’ let the sun shine on ye!” he boomed.
“Now, let’s get busy,” said Gillis, when breakfast was over. “The first thing to do is to find a good spot to pitch our tent.”
“You’ll find a deserted cabin at t’other end o’ the lake that’ll be a whole lot more comfortable nor a tent,” informed the trapper.
The cabin of cedar logs proved to be in good repair and the location excellent.
“A couple of days’ work,” observed Gillis, “an’ I can fix her up so’s we’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug.”
John had spent the forenoon in baking. Cakes, pies, doughnuts and cookies were placed at regular intervals on the shelves in platters and tins tipped at an angle to make the display more effective. It was an exhibit of pastry that any housewife might envy. The unstinted praise of his guests was like music to the trapper’s ears.
For dessert they had a savoury mince-pie, steaming hot from the oven. Andy waxed most eloquent in his praise of this culinary delight.
“Have another piece, ol’ timer,” insisted John, his face beaming.