“You poor creature,” I replied, “you don’t seem to have anything to make you comfortable.”
“I have but little,” she said quietly.
“Have you any venison?”
“No!”
“Have you any flour?”
“No!”
“Have you any tea?”
“Have you any potatoes?”
When this last question of mine was uttered, the poor woman looked up at me, for she was the widow of Samuel Papanekis, and this was her answer: “I have no potatoes, for, don’t you remember, at the time of potato planting Samuel took charge of the brigade that went up with provisions to save the poor white people? And Samuel is not here to shoot deer, that I may have venison; and Samuel is not here to catch mink and marten and beaver and other things to exchange for flour and tea.”
“What have you got, poor woman?” I said with my heart full of sorrow.