“I’m wishin’, now, I had my snow glasses here, but they’re down in th’ tilt,” remarked David one bright morning in early April when the snow, reflecting the sun rays, glistened with dazzling brilliancy.
“I’m wishin’ I had mine, too, but I didn’t bring un, either,” said Andy. “’Twas a bit hazy when we left th’ tilt, and I didn’t think I’d need un.”
“’Tis time t’ wear un now, and we mustn’t come out again without un, whether ’tis hazy or no. There’ll be a bad glare on th’ snow out on th’ mesh today,” David predicted.
“’Twon’t be long now till we strikes up th’ traps, will it?” asked Andy.
“Th’ fur’ll be good till th’ end of April, and we’ll strike up th’ end of April, whatever,” said David.
“I’m wonderin’ and wonderin’ how Pop’s leg is, and how th’ mist in Jamie’s eyes is. I’ll be wonderful glad t’ get home,” and there was longing in Andy’s voice.
“I hope Pop’s ’most well, and th’ mist isn’t gettin’ thicker. I been wonderin’ and wonderin’, too.”
“We got a fine lot o’ fur, Davy. Pop’ll be wonderful glad.”
“That he will. We’ve got ’most as much as Pop got last year.”