Chip was more stoical. Her life at Tim’s Place and contact with Old Tomah had taught her reserve, and yet when she turned for the last possible look at Old Cy and Ray, waving good-bye at the landing, a mist of tears hid them.
Old Cy’s face was also a study. To him these parting clouds were as the white ones hiding the sun; yet he felt their chill. His own life shadow was lengthening. He had now but a brief renewal of youth in the lives of these two, and then forgetfulness, as he knew full well, and yet he pitied them.
More than that, he had set his hand to guiding the bark of their young lives into the safe harbor of a home, and all feelings of his own subserved to that.
“Come, come, my boy,” he said to Ray as the two turned away, and he noted the lad’s sad face, “she’s gone now, an’ ye’d best ferget her fer a spell. Ye won’t, I know, ’n’ she won’t; but ye’d best make believe ye do. This ain’t no spot fer love-sick spells. We’ve got work to do, ’n’ money to arn; ye’ve got the chance o’ yer life now, an’ me to help ye to it, so brace up ’n’ look cheerful.
“Think o’ what we got to do to git ready fer winter ’n’ six foot o’ snow. Think o’ the traps we’re goin’ to set, an’ the fun o’ tendin’ ’em. Why, girls ain’t in it a minnit with ketchin’ mink, marten, otter, an’ now ’n’ then a lynx or bobcat. Then when ye go back with a new suit ’n’ money in yer pocket, ye’ll feel prouder’n a peacock, ’n’ Chip a-smilin’ at ye sweeter’n new maple syrup.”
Verily Old Cy had the wisdom of age and the cheerfulness of morning sunshine.
All that day these wilderness-marooned friends worked hard. An ample stock of birch wood must be cut and split, a shed of poles to cover it must be erected alongside of the cabin, the hermit’s log hut was to be divested of its fittings, which were to be removed to the new cabin which all were now to occupy.
Realizing how vital to their existence the canoes were, Old Cy had also planned a shelter of small logs for them on one side of the log cabin, that could be locked. Here the canoes not in use must be stored at once to guard against a night call from the malignant half-breed. His canoe had been taken along by Martin’s party, to be left at Tim’s Place, for even Hersey would have scorned to appropriate it.
There were dozens of other needs to prepare for during the next two months, all of which were important. An ample supply of deer meat must be secured, to be pickled and smoked. All the partridges they could shoot would be needed, and later, when south-bound ducks halted at the lake, a few of these would add to their larder.
In this connection, also, another need occurred to Old Cy. Trout could be caught all winter in the lake, but live bait must be had, and so a slat car to be sunk in some swift-running stream, which would hold them, must be constructed, also a scoop of mosquito net to catch them. These minnows were to be found now by the million in every brook, and forethought was Old Cy’s watchword.