One day shortly after Christmas the two boys met unexpectedly near Tom’s house in Hanover Street. Don stopped short. “Say, Tom,” he said, “don’t you think we might be friends again even if we can’t agree on all things?” “I don’t care to be friendly--with you,” replied Tom shortly. “Oh, all right, then,” said Don. For several minutes he was indignant and angry; then he decided that the best thing for him to do would be to forget the quarrel, and from that moment he did not allow it to worry him. The winter dragged on slowly. January passed, and February came and went. There had been plenty of sledding on the Common; and there were numerous ponds and swamps, where Don tried his new upturned skates that his Uncle David had given him on his birthday. March was drawing to a close when Don unexpectedly found a new friend. It was Sunday evening, and Aunt Martha and Uncle David and Don were seated in front of a roaring fire on the hearth, when two loud knocks sounded at the door. Before Uncle David could get to his feet it swung open, and a short heavy-set man dressed in deerskin entered. “Glen Drake!” exclaimed Uncle David. “By the stars, what in the world brings you out of the woods?” “Oh, I just meandered down,” replied the other, clasping the outstretched hand. “Thought maybe you’d be glad to see me.” “Glad? I surely am! Here--you know Aunt Martha.” Glen Drake shook hands with Don’s aunt. “And here--this is my nephew Donald.” Don felt the bones in his hand fairly grate as the man pressed it. “Draw up a chair, Glen,” said Uncle David. But Glen Drake had crossed to the door and slipped outside. In a moment he was back, carrying a large bundle in both arms. “A little present for Aunt Martha,” he said and dropped it on the floor in the centre of the room. “There’s a silver fox among ’em.” “Furs!” cried Don. “Why, Glen Drake,” began Aunt Martha, “you don’t mean to say----” “Best year I ever had,” said Glen and, kneeling, cut the thong that bound the bundle. Don’s eyes seemed fairly to be popping from his head as he watched the old trapper lift pelt after pelt from the closely-packed pile. There must have easily been several thousand dollars’ worth there on the floor. Perhaps one-fourth of the pelts were muskrat; the rest were beaver, otter, mink, martin, sable, ermine and finally the trapper’s greatest prize--a silver fox. “You don’t mean to say----” Aunt Martha began again. “Why, you surely don’t intend to give me all these!” At that the old trapper threw back his head and laughed for fully half a minute. “All!” he exclaimed. “Why, bless your heart, Aunt Martha, you should have seen the catch I made. This isn’t one-fifth--no, not one-tenth!” He seated himself in front of the fire and began to fill his pipe. “Never saw so much fur in my life,” he said. “Where have you been?” Uncle David asked. “Up Quebec way and beyond.”