Men of their class rarely have vision or any kind of foresight. They live in the present and plan no farther than their horizon, being, like children, overpowered by visible things. But the Irish Canadian had lived many lives as lake sailor and lumberman, and he had a shrewd eye and quick humor. It was he who had devised the conveniences of the camp, and who delicately and skilfully prepared the meals so that the two fared like epicures; while Puttany did the scullery-work, and was superior only at deer-stalking. The perfume of coffee presently sifted abroad, and the table was brought out and set under the evening sky. Lockers gave up their store of bread and pastry made by the capable hands of the camp housekeeper. The woman, their guest, sat watching him move from cook-tent to table, and Puttany lounged on the dog-kennel, whittling a stick. “Frank,” said his partner, with sudden authority, “you take the kid down to the water and scrub him.” “All over?” whispered Puttany, in confusion. “No—just his hands and top. Supper is ready to put on.” The docile mother heard her child yelling and blubbering under generous douches while nurse's duty was performed by one of her entertainers, and she smiled in proof that her faith was grounded on their righteousness. She was indeed a mere girl. Her short scarlet upper lip showed her teeth with piquant innocence. As much a creature of the woods as a doe, her lot had been that primitive struggle which knows nothing about the amenities and proprieties of civilization. This Brown could clearly see, and he addressed her with the same protecting patronage he would have used with the child. “What's your kid's name?” “Grégoire, but he call himself Gougou. Me, I am Françoise La France.” “Yes, I know that. You have had a hard time since Joe died.” “I been anxion”—she clasped her hands and looked pleadingly at him—“I been very anxion!” “Well, you're all right now.” “You let me do de mend'? I can sew. I use' learn to sew when I have t'ing to sew on.” “Jerusalem! look at them shirts on the line! We have more clothes to sew on than any dude at the hotels. And it that isn't enough, I'll make Puttany strip and stay in the brush while you do his clothes.” Françoise widened her smile. “I've been thinking we'll have to build you a house right over there.” Her entertainer indicated the shore behind her. “Oppos'?” exclaimed Françoise, turning with pleased interest. Even in her husband's lifetime little thought had ever been taken for her. “Yes, directly opposite. We can fix it up snug like our winter camp at the other end of the lake.” “Have you two camp?” “Yes—a winter camp and a summer camp. But we have stayed comfortably here in the cook-tent until the thermometer went fourteen degrees below zero. We'll sleep in it till we get your house done, and you can take the tent. If there are no parties wanting guides, we might as well begin it in the morning.”