"There it be, Rover,—we are to give to the man that lacks, vagabond or no vagabond. Ef he lacks vict'als, we are to give him vict'als; ef he lacks garments, we are to give him garments; ef he lacks a Christmas dinner, Rover, we are to give him a Christmas dinner. But how are we to give him a Christmas dinner onless we give him an invite to it? For ye know yerself, Rover, that no vagabond would ever come to a cabin where ye and me be onless we axed him to.
"But there's another sentence here somewhere in the Book that bears on the p'int we be considerin'. 'When thou makest a dinner'—that be exactly our case, Rover,—'or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind: and thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.'
"Furdermore, Rover, there's another passage that the lad, when he was on the 'arth, used to say each night afore he went to sleep, whether in the cabin or on the boughs. Sport, ye must remember it, for ye was his own dog. I am not sartin where it be writ in the Book, but that doesn't matter, for we all know the words,—it be from the great prayer,—'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,' and the great prayer, as I conceit, is the only blazin' a man can trail by ef he hopes to fetch through to the Great Clearin' in peace.
"Now these vagabonds, Rover,—I needn't name 'em to ye,—have trespassed agin us; ye and me know it, for we've ketched 'em in their devilment, and, what is more to the p'int, the Lord knows it, too, for He's had His eye on 'em, and there's one up in the north country that wouldn't git an invite to this dinner, Bible or no Bible. But, barrin' this knave, who is beyend the range of our trails, there is not a single vagabond that has trespassed agin us that we mustn't forgive. For this be Christmas time, pups, and Christmas be a time for forgivin' and forgittin' all the evil that's been done agin us."
And here the old man paused and looked at the dogs and then gazed long and earnestly into the fire. To his face as he gazed came the look of satisfaction and a most placid peace. It was evident that if there had been a struggle between his natural feelings and his determination to celebrate the great Christmas festival in the true Christmas spirit the latter had won, and that the Christmas mood had at last entered into and possessed his soul. And after an interval he rose and carefully closing the great volume said:—
"And now, pups, as we've settled it atween us, and we all stand agreed in the matter, I'll git the bark and the coal, and we'll see how the decision of the council looks when it be put in writin'."
And in a moment the Trapper was again seated at the table with a large piece of birch bark in front of him and a hound on either side.
"I conceit, pups, that the letterin'," said the old man as he proceeded to sharpen the piece of charcoal he held in his hands, "should be of goodly size, for it may help some in readin', and I sartinly know it will help me in writin'."
With this honest confession of his lack of practice in penmanship, he proceeded to write:—
"Any man or animil that be in want of vict'als or garments is invited to come on Christmas day—which be next week Thursday—without furder axin', to John Norton's cabin, on Long Lake, to eat Christmas dinner. Vagabonds included in this invite."