Then, beckoning us to follow, he hobbled back into the house, where after an hour’s tarry we were served with a dinner that hardly paid for the time lost in eating it. It consisted of bread, potatoes, and tea sweetened with molasses; but, like the apples, even this was “a change” from beaver stews.
“CAN YOU GET UP A DINNER FOR THE CROWD?”
“Must a-had a dry time, gen’lmen,” he said, as he busied himself attending to us. “Didn’t find much water, I guess. Never did see the ’Roostook run down so low in all my life, an’ I’ve lived on this ’ere river now nigh on thirty-seven year. I’m seventy odd year old, but only for a lame hip I’ve got I could tramp through the woods with the best o’ ye.”
“You must have some trouble in working your farm,” remarked the Colonel, surveying the fields in front of the door.
“Oh, no; not much. I raise sons to do it. I’ve got eleven as likely boys as you ever did see; but I lost one in the war—poor feller!” as in a husky tone of voice he pointed to a framed certificate of his son’s war services.
Sixteen miles more of vigorous paddling brought us to the town of Masardis, the post-office of the county, and landing on the shore among a number of dug-outs and batteaux, we entered the village.
“Where is the store?” inquired the Colonel, as he crossed the street and rapped at the door of one of the houses.
“Don’t have any,” said the lady who answered his call, surprised at her visitor.
“Well, can you sell us some flour, potatoes and coffee?” and then the Colonel unrolled his memorandum of much needed camp supplies.