And thus it was arranged, to the vast satisfaction of Thomas and Margaret, as well as Doctor Joe, that The Jug was to be his home while the boys were away. And Jamie was mightily pleased, for Doctor Joe would be jolly company of evenings, singing in his fine voice, as no other in the Bay could sing, and telling him stories such as no one else could tell.
Everything was in readiness on Saturday night, in order that Sunday might be observed as a day of rest. Thomas would permit no work to be done about his home on Sunday that could as well be done another day. Like most of the Bay folk, his faith was simple and literal.
“’Tis wrong t’ work and ’tis wrong t’ shoot on a Sunday,” said he, “and anything that ’tis wrong t’ do brings bad luck in th’ end if you does un. ’Tis goin’ contrary t’ th’ Almighty.”
And so the day was spent in quietude and rest indoors, which pleased Jamie greatly, for he was no less excited than David and Andy, and he was glad to have them near. They had suddenly become heroes in his sight, and indeed they were heroes, aye, and soldiers, too, going into the deep wilderness to battle with death-dealing blizzards and bitter, changeless cold for the sake of those they loved.
“And you and Andy makes a good hunt, and gets th’ fur t’ pay for havin’ th’ mist took out o’ my eyes,” said Jamie, passing his hand before his eyes in a pitiful little attempt to brush the mist away that he might see David’s features more plainly, “and th’ great doctor cures un, I’ll go to Seal Lake some time and hunt, too.”
“We’ll do our best, now,” assured David, “an’ we’ll get th’ fur, never fear.”
“That we will,” said Andy, squaring his shoulders.
“Pop says you’ll have t’ keep plenty o’ grit,” warned Jamie.
“We’ll keep plenty o’ grit,” said Andy.
“And a stout heart, like a man’s,” added Jamie.