Joe's eyes opened in surprise. "Come here! for what?"
"To read, play games, sing, chat, smoke, and perhaps debate subjects with the rest of the men."
"To read! read what?" and Joe looked around in a puzzled manner.
"Books, magazines and papers, of course; what else would people read?"
"Say, parson, you're only joking, aren't you? Books, magazines, here in this desolate hole! over a thousand miles from anywhere! Why we've not had a letter or one word from the outside since last summer, and now you talk about books, magazines and papers!"
"Well, suppose such a thing did happen," laughed Keith at Joe's incredulity, "do you think the men would like it?"
"Like it? Well, I guess they'd like it. Some would, anyway, for they are hungry, starving for reading matter. Didn't you see the way they crowded into the cabin while you read to me? You should see the only book we have in camp. It's a cheap copy of 'David Copperfield,' which one of the boys got from a mission station over on the Mackenzie River side, when he came in by way of the Peel. You'd hardly know it was a book at all, with the covers off and the leaves all loose. I've read it through three times this winter already, and some of the boys have read it more than that."
A lump came into Keith's throat as he listened to this simple story, and laying down his hammer he seized his cap and mittens. "Come, Joe," he said, "I want to show you something."
Together they made their way to the store room, behind the mission house, which, when they had entered, Keith silently pointed to several piles of magazines and papers stacked in one corner. Joe's eyes bulged with amazement. He rubbed them, to make sure he was not dreaming.
"Gee-whiz!" he exclaimed. "Who'd have thought it!"