“But where did you learn?” insisted Paul. “And what ever made you turn trapper?”
Amesbury’s face grew suddenly grave, almost agonized.
“Oh, Mr. Amesbury!” Paul exclaimed, feeling instinctively that he had made a mistake in urging the question. “If I shouldn’t ask, don’t tell me! I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Paul,” said Amesbury, quietly. “I’ll tell you the story. It may be well for you to hear it.”
CHAPTER XVIII
STALKED BY WOLVES
Amesbury filled his pipe, lighted it from the stove with one of the shavings he had whittled, and sat silently contemplating the streak of light which flashed through the stove vent. He seemed to Paul to have suddenly grown very old. His normally open, genial countenance was drawn and haggard, and Paul noted the streaks of gray in his brown hair and beard.
“It may do you good to hear the story,” Amesbury presently said. “I’ve never told it to any one, but it’s a pretty good warning to young fellows like you. I like you, and I hope you’ll not make the mistakes that I did.” He lapsed into silence again for a few moments, and then began:
“As I told you, my father was a minister—the gentlest, most affectionate, sympathetic man I ever knew. If there ever was a true servant of God he was one. There was never a sweeter or more devoted woman ever lived than my mother. I believe her spirit comes now of nights to kiss my forehead as I fall asleep, just as she did in those long ago days when I was a boy at home.