"What's the trouble, Paul?" asked Amesbury.

Paul explained.

"Why, you're suffering from _mal de raquet_. Dan's right; we must stay here till you're better--a day or two will fix that. Mustn't try to travel with _mal de raquet_. It's a mighty uncomfortable companion."

At the end of two days, however, Paul was in fairly good condition again, and the journey was resumed without further interruption, save twice they were compelled by storms to remain a day in camp.

Two weeks had elapsed since leaving the post when finally, late one afternoon, Amesbury shouted back to the lads:

"Come along, fellows. We're here at last."

Ahmik had stopped and was shoveling snow with one of his snowshoes from the door of a low log cabin, half covered with drifts. It was situated in the center of a small clearing among the fir trees which looked out upon the white frozen expanse of South Indian Lake.

"This is our castle," Amesbury announced as Paul and Dan joined him.

"Here we're to live in luxurious comfort. That's the southern extremity of Indian Lake. What do you think of it?"

"'Tis a wonderful fine place t' live in if th' trappin's good," said Dan.

"It looks mighty good to me. What a dandy place it must be in summer!"

Paul exclaimed.

Ahmik now had the door cleared and they entered. The cabin contained a single square room. At one side was a flat-topped sheet-iron stove, similar in design to the tent stove commonly in use in the north, but of considerably larger proportions and heavier material. Near it was a rough table, in the end opposite the door stood a rough-hewn bedstead, the bed neatly made up with white spread and pillow cases. A shelf of well-thumbed books--the _Bible_, _Shakespeare_, _Thomas a Kempis_, Milton's _Paradise Lost_, Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_, Wordsworth's _Poems_, _Robinson Crusoe_, _Mother Goose's Melodies_, _Aesop's Fables_, _David Copperfield_, and some random novels and volumes of travel and adventure. On one end of a second table, evidently used as a writing desk, were neatly piled old magazines and newspapers, on the other end lay some sheet music and a violin, and in the center were writing materials.

The chairs, like all of the furniture, were doubtless the handiwork of Amesbury himself. Everything in the room was spotlessly clean and in order. The setting sun sent a shaft of sunlight through a window, giving the room an air of brightness, and enhancing its atmosphere of homely comfort.

When the fire which Amesbury lighted in the stove began to crackle, he asked:

"Well, fellows, how do you like my den? Think you can be comfortable here for three or four months?"

"'Tis grand, sir," said Dan.

"Mr. Amesbury, it's splendid!" declared Paul.

Both lads had been long enough from home, and had endured sufficient buffeting of the wilderness to measure by contrast with their recent experiences the attractions of Amesbury's cabin, and it appealed to them as little short of luxurious.

"Not splendid, but good enough for a trapper. Hang up your things; you'll find pegs. Make yourselves at home now. Sit down and rest up.

Ahmik will take care of the stuff outside," and as Amesbury went about the preparation of supper he sang:

"'There was an old woman, and what do you think?

She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink: Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet; This tiresome old woman could never be quiet.'"

Luscious caribou steaks were soon frying, biscuits were baking, and presently the delicious odor of coffee filled the room.

"I always keep coffee here," explained Amesbury. "Rather have it than tea, but it's too bulky to carry when I'm hitting the trail."

"It's the first smell of coffee I've had since we left the ship, and oh, but it smells bully to me!" said Paul.

Candles were lighted, a snowy white cloth spread on the table. When at length they sat down to eat, Amesbury, with bowed head, asked grace.

"'Tis good," remarked Dan, accepting a liberal piece of caribou meat, "t' hear un say grace. Dad always says un."

"I neglect it when I'm on the trail," said Amesbury. "My father was a preacher. He always said grace at home, and it's second nature to me to do it when I sit at a table. Part of eating. We mustn't forget, you know, that we owe what we have to a higher Power, and we shouldn't forget to give thanks."

"That's what Dad would be sayin', now." Dan had admired Amesbury before, but this comparison of him with his father was the highest compliment he could have paid him, and indicated the highest regard for his friend.

"I'll tell you, chaps, my theory of the way the Lord gives us our blessings. He gives us eyes and hands and feet, and best of all He gives us brains with which to reason things out. Then He provides the land with all its products, the birds and animals and forests. He gives us the sea with its products, too. He intends that we use our brains in devising methods of applying the products of earth and sea to our needs, and to use our hands and feet and eyes to carry out what our brain tells us how to do. If I hadn't used my eyes and hands and feet the Lord never would have put this venison on the table."

"That's just what Dad says," agreed Dan. "He says they ain't no use prayin' for things when they's a way t' get un yourself."

"Your dad's right. If you chaps had just spent your time praying when you went adrift on that ice pan, you'd be at the bottom of Hudson Bay now. Yes, your dad's right. Thank the Lord for the things that come your way, but get up and hustle first, or they won't come your way.

Use your brains and your hands. That's the thing to do."

Supper finished, Amesbury and Ahmik cut tobacco from black plugs, filled their pipes; Amesbury whittled some long shavings from a stick of dry wood, lighted an end of a shaving by pushing it through the stove vent, and applied it to his pipe; Ahmik followed his example, and then turned his attention to washing dishes.

Puffing contentedly at his pipe, Amesbury lifted the violin from its case, settled himself before the stove and began tuning the instrument.

"I likes t' hear fiddlin' wonderful well," remarked Dan.

"That's good, for I'm going to fiddle. Do you like it, too, Densmore?"

"I'm very fond of music."

"Then, no one objecting, I'll begin."

Amesbury began playing very softly. Dan sat in open-mouthed wonder, eyes wide, and scarcely breathing. Paul was enthralled. It was a master hand that held the bow. The player himself seemed quite unconscious of his listeners and surroundings. The wrinkles smoothed out of the corners of his eyes, the alert twinkle left the eyes and a soft, dreamy expression came into them, as though they beheld some beautiful vision. He seemed transfigured as Paul looked at him.

Another being had taken the place of the ungainly, rough-clad trapper.

For a full hour he played. Then laying his violin across his knees sat silent for a little. The music had cast a spell upon them. Even Ahmik, who had seated himself near the table, had let his pipe die out.

All at once the humorous wrinkles came again into the corners of Amesbury's eyes, and the eyes began to sparkle and laugh. He arose and returned the violin to its case, humming as he did so:

"'Hey diddle diddle, The cat and the fiddle.'

"I always like a little music after supper," he remarked, resuming his seat.

"Oh, 'twere more than music!" exclaimed Dan. "'T were--'t were--I'm thinkin'--'t were like in heaven. 'T weren't fiddlin', sir. 'T were music of angels in th' fiddle, sir."

"That's the best compliment I ever received," laughed Amesbury.

"Mr. Amesbury," asked Paul, "where did you ever learn to play like that? I heard Madagowski, the great Polish violinist that every one raved over last year. I thought it was great then, but after hearing you it seems just common."

"You chaps will make me vain if you keep this up," and Amesbury laughed again.

"But where did you learn?" insisted Paul. "And what ever made you turn trapper?"

Amesbury's face grew suddenly grave, almost agonized.

"Oh, Mr. Amesbury!" Paul exclaimed, feeling instinctively that he had made a mistake in urging the question. "If I shouldn't ask, don't tell me! I'm sorry."