None of these fears escaped Old Cy, however. He was too wise for that; and moreover, in order to inspire Ray, he now began to affect an almost boyish interest in the snow coming and its enjoyments.
“We can’t do much more trappin’,” he said that first winter evening beside the fire while the snow beat against the windows, “but we kin hev some fun keepin’ warm an’ cookin’, ’n’ when the snow hardens a bit we kin go fer gum again, or set tip-ups. We’ve got more’n a million shiners in the cage up the brook, ’n’ ’fore it gits too cold, we’ll ketch a lot o’ trout.”
It was this faculty for adaptation to the situation, this making the best of all circumstances and seizing all opportunities for pleasure or profit, that was Old Cy’s woodwise characteristic. No matter if it stormed, he knew that the sun shone behind the clouds. No matter if they were utterly isolated in this wilderness, he still saw ways of enjoyment, and even when snowbound, or shut in by zero weather, he would still find interest in cooking, keeping warm, or getting ready to fish, or in gathering gum, when the chance came.
But winter had now come upon them with a sudden swoop. The next day snow fell incessantly, and when the sun shone again, a two-foot level of it hid the lake.
Then, as if to test Ray’s spirits, the temperature kept well below freezing for the next week, the wind blew continuously, sweeping the snow into drifts, and all the three could do, as Old Cy said, was to “cook vittles and keep warm.”
And now for the first time, Ray began to show homesickness. From the day Chip had left, not once had he mentioned her or his aunt or uncle in any way. He had kept step, as it were, with Old Cy in all things adventurous as well as labor and sport.
The possible, even certain gain in the money value of the furs and gum which they had secured, coupled with their adventurous life, had occupied his every thought; but now that he could only help Old Cy indoors, he began to mope.
“I wonder what they are doing now down in Greenvale,” he said one evening after they had gathered about the fire. “I wish we could hear from ’em.”
It was the first sign of homesickness which Old Cy had so long dreaded to see in him.
“Oh, they ain’t havin’ half the fun we are,” Old Cy answered cheerfully. “Jest now I callate Chip’s studyin’ ’longside o’ Aunt Comfort’s fire; mebbe Angie ’n’ Martin’s over to Dr. Sol’s, swappin’ yarns. To-morrer Chip’ll go ter school, ez usual, ’n’ when Sunday comes they’ll all dress up ’n’ go ter meetin’. One thing is sartin, they ain’t takin’ any more comfort’n we are, or gittin’ better things to eat. If the weather warms up, ez I callate it will in a day or two, we’ll pull some trout out o’ the lake that ’ud make all Greenvale stare. They allus bite sharp arter a cold spell. Ez fer Chip,” he continued, eying Ray’s sober face, “she ain’t goin’ to fergit ye, never fear, an’ when I take ye out o’ the woods in the spring ’n’ start ye fer Greenvale with five hundred dollars in yer inside pocket, ez I callate, ye’ll feel’s though ye owned the hull town when ye git thar, an’ Chip’ll feel ez tho’ she owned ye.”