What was the booty Radisson and Groseillers (whom, by the way, Charles II. insisted upon calling “Mr. Gooseberry”) had brought from Hudson Bay? It took the form of 600,000 beaver skins. Resident in that part of the world are many four-footed creatures which, because the weather is apt to be cold, are provided by nature with warm, hairy coats; and the fur that is a necessary for them is a luxury for man—and especially for woman. Accordingly, the Adventurers sent their ships to Hudson Bay for pelts they could turn into pelf. The actual trapping and skinning was done by the Indians, from whom the Adventurers’ agents secured the valuable furs in exchange for tobacco, shot, brandy, and other commodities of civilisation. Sometimes, not content with killing the beaver, the mink, and the silver fox, the Indians killed the Adventurers’ agents, and vice versa; but in a general way the natives and the visitors traded on a footing of mutual toleration—business being done on these lines: six beavers for one blanket, half a pound of beads for one beaver, twelve buttons or twenty fish-hooks for ditto, and twelve beavers for one gun. The Hudson’s Bay men built themselves forts, and their commercial transactions with the red man were always conducted through a small wicket in the palisades. Nor were picturesque touches lacking at the London end. Prince Rupert was the governor, and for colleagues he had a committee who, by way of tempering the austerity of the company’s affairs, permitted occasional latitude to a festive spirit. Lord Preston having rendered the company a service, the warehouse keeper was instructed to deliver “as many black beaver skins as will make my lord a fine covering for his bedd”; and, in gratitude for favours from a more exalted quarter, “two pairs of beaver stockings are ordered for the King and the Duke of York.” The Adventurers were equally alive to domestic claims on their goodwill, as may be inferred from orders “to bespeak a cask of canary for ye governor,” and “a hogshead of claret for ye captains sailing from Gravesend.” [Illustration: THE ONLY SLUM IN CANADA—LITTLE CHAMPLAIN STREET, QUEBEC ]