“Hear that!”
“What?”
“Th’ wind. I knew she’d be comin’ up. Th’ fog’ll be blowin’ away by midnight.”
“That’ll be good.”
“If she don’t blow too strong an’ too long.”
“But this bacon grease is great!” exclaimed Paul, taking a spoonful of the warm grease. “Funny I like it, though. When I’m home I can’t bear to eat fat.”
“Grease is fine grub for cruisin’, an’ when th’ weather’s cold. When Dad an’ me goes trappin’ winters we just takes fat pork an’ flour an’ tea an’ molasses.”
“It does make a difference, I guess. I was just thinking that I’d never in my life eaten anything so good as this bacon and hardtack. If I was home I wouldn’t look at them. I’ll never find fault again if my meat’s a little too rare or too done, or not just what I happen to like best.”
“Dad says anythin’s good when a feller’s hungry.”