"Oh, he doesn't want to be King!" declared Jay, ironically. "Next! next! Who else is there, Frog-legged Carcajou?"
"Well, there's Muskrat," suggested Lynx; "I like him."
"Yes, to eat!" interrupted Whisky-Jack. "If Wuchusk were King, we'd come home some day and find that he'd been eaten by one of his own subjects--by the sneaking Lynx--'Slink' it should be."
"You shouldn't say that," declared Black Fox; "because you're our Mail Carrier you shouldn't take so many liberties."
"I'm only telling the truth. It has always been the custom at these meetings for each one to speak just what he thought, and no hard feelings afterward."
Carcajou pulled his long, curved claws through his whiskers reflectively. "What's the use of wrangling like this--we're as silly as a lot of Men. Last Winter when I was down at Grand Rapids I sat up on the roof of a Shack listening to those two-legged creatures squabbling. They were all arguing fiercely about the different ways of getting to Heaven. According to each one he was on the right road, and the rest were all wrong. Fresh Meat! but it was stupid; for I gathered from what they said that the one way to get there was to be good; only each had a different way."
"What place did you say?" queried the Jay.
"Grand Rapids."
"No, no! the place they all wanted to go to."
"Heaven."