What doth thy bold voice promise me?"
and then a chorus of men's voices
"'We build up nations—this my axe and I.'"
These young men who worked in the mill and brought their logs down the river, which was our old friend the Merry-Tongue, lived in very comfortable log houses which could be occupied summer or winter. Consequently some of them were quite nicely furnished.
To my amusement, didn't I see my acquaintance, Black-Paws, the raccoon, just waking from a sound sleep under a bed in one of these log cabins.
"So this is where you go when you disappear from the Devering Farm," I said.
He looked me all over with his little cunning eyes. "Sometimes," he said. "I have many homes—they have a good cook in this camp," and approaching a quite nice looking bed he pulled back the covers and showed me a lump of orange layer cake under the pillow.
I couldn't help laughing as he tucked it back and patted it with his paws. "Whose bed is it?" I asked.
"Cyril Green's—he's first violin."
"You're quite a musical animal, I suppose," I said.