“And you are going to be an engineer,” added Carington, laughing.
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Would Michelle tan the skin for me?”
“Yes. It shall be smoke-tanned and sent down to you. Once smoke-tanned, it is fairly moth-proof, and you will find it does not get stiff after a wetting. The civilized man has never yet learned the art of the tanner.”
“I want it for Aunt Anne.”
“I thought you said it was for Miss Rose?”
“No. That was what you said.”
“Did I?” And they went on in that uncertain light which is more puzzling than darkness, in and out of the water, or, with exclamations and laughter, pitching over rocks and dead trees.
Half-way down the hill Carington stopped. The brook-channel they were following descended to the river in a widening gorge. He intended to follow it, and, after seeing Colkett, meant to rejoin Jack, as he had previously arranged. He now set the boy on a disused lumber-road leading to the clearing, saying, at last, “This is my way. You may see the porcupine in the open to the left, but be careful how you shoot. Confound it! How much longer do you think I am going to be your pack-mule? I shall kick. Here, carry your own plunder.” And, laughing, he cast the bearskin on the ground.
Jack’s face lit up. This, of all things, was to be desired.
“I was going to ask you if I might carry it a bit.”