“I,” said Joe, “go in for staying till the very last minute, trapping the very last beaver, and then taking to the water.”
The boys were clamorous for going by water.
“It will be nothing,” said Uncle Isaac, “to carry our canoes and furs round the falls, to what it would to haul the sledges over the soft snow; and then, when we get out of the woods, we shall find the snow gone, have to leave them, and come after them with teams.”
Notwithstanding the excitement of this wild, fresh life in the woods, the boys had by no means lost sight of the great object of their efforts—the fitting away of the Hard-Scrabble.
“Uncle Isaac,” asked Charlie, “how much do you suppose these furs are worth?”
“Well, I never like to crow till I have got out of the woods; but it is remarkable, it is, our luck.”
“How much? Do tell us!”
“I don’t think you’ll have to make any wooden shrouds.”
“Shall we have enough to rig the vessel?”
“How much, Charlie, do you suppose these silver-gray fox-skins are worth?” asked Joe.