“I suppose you find them almost everywhere,” said Bob Hart.
“No, you don’t,” said Jack. “They used to be very plentiful, but their fur is in such great demand that hunters and trappers are after them all the time. In Europe, where they used to be abundant, there are hardly any left except in the zoos as curiosities. You don’t find so many of them in America either now, except where it’s cool, as it is up here, and over the line in Canada.”
“Well,” yawned Tom, as they finally got ready to go to bed, “I’d hate to have to work as they do. Did you see how they pitched in this afternoon? It makes me tired even to think of it.”
“Yes,” said Jack. “I guess we all know better than ever before what it means to be as ‘busy as a beaver.’”
CHAPTER XI
THE BOG
“‘Where are you going, my pretty maid?’
“‘I’m going a-milking, sir, she said,’” chanted Pete as Ben Hoover emerged from the mess tent with the largest tin pail the camp boasted swinging from one hand, and the next largest one from the other.
“Gentlemen,” said Ben, with mock dignity, “I’m not in the humor even to resent the insult your words imply further than to say that you will be sorry for those cruel words when you learn my mission.
“I am about to sacrifice myself on the altar of friendship! I am about to separate myself from human society for the space of two endless hours! I am to spend those two hours in gathering material for raspberry dumplings”—here a general shout of delight greeted him—“with which to brighten the lives of many friends.”
This speech was highly applauded by the “many friends,” and Ben, bowing solemnly, picked up his two pails and walked off, followed by cries of: