"Slow Birds! it makes me hungry," sighed the Red Widow.
"So it does me, Good Dame," piped Whisky-Jack. "You chaps had better slip away home now; I'm going to breakfast with the Men. It isn't safe to remain, for I can't stop to look after you."
"Go and clear the plates, Feather-front," cried Carcajou, malignantly.
Jack sawed the air energetically with his wings and lighted on the wire guy with which François had steadied the stove pipe.
"Shall we move, Comrades?" asked Black King.
"Wait and see how Jack gets on with The Boy," pleaded Mooswa.
"I could sit here and smell that Fish all day," declared Nekik.
"So could I," added Mink. "It's just lovely. I've never tasted Fish dried in the fire-pot. Once I stole one from a Trapper which he had dried in the sun--there was no juice in it."
"Pe-e-p! Peep!" squeaked Whisky-Jack. The Boy looked up at him.
"What a frowsy-headed old bird!" he exclaimed, shying a stick at Jay.