“And it’s the first night they’ve missed isn’t it?”
“Yes, that is, since we’ve been here,” Bob assured him.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange?”
“Rather.”
The day passed quietly. In the afternoon they were all gathered on the porch of the Sleepers’ cabin and Kernertok entertained them for several hours with stories of his early life in Northern Canada. Despite his broken English the old Indian was a past master in the art of story telling and he had an abundance of material to draw from and held his listener spellbound with his vivid word pictures of life amid the deep snows and rushing streams.
“He’s wonderful,” Helen whispered to Bob as they were going to supper.
“A wonderful man and a wonderful dog,” Bob assured her.
That night was a repetition of the previous one. The camp was as well behaved as any one could desire, much to the disgust of the two boys.
“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is,” Jack declared as he rolled into bed.
“And then some,” Bob agreed from his side of the room.