“Louis, what are you cutting out of that bit of wood?” said Catharine, the very next day after the first ideas of the shanty had been started.
“Hollowing out a canoe.”
“Out of that piece of stick?” said Catharine, laughing. “How many passengers is it to accommodate, my dear.”
“Don’t teaze, ma belle. I am only making a model. My canoe will be made out of a big pine log, and large enough to hold three.”
“Is it to be like the big sap-trough in the sugar-bush at home?” Louis nodded assent.
“I long to go over to the island; I see lots of ducks popping in and out of the little bays beneath the cedars, and there are plenty of partridges, I am sure, and squirrels,—it is the very place for them.”
“And shall we have a sail as well as oars?”
“Yes; set up your apron for a sail.”
Catharine cast a rueful look upon the tattered remnant of the apron.
“It is worth nothing now,” she said, sighing; “and what am I to do when my gown is worn out? It is a good thing it is so strong; if it had been cotton, now, it would have been torn to bits among the bushes.”