They went out together into the keen air. Around the cabin for a space of several acres the snow lay deep, its pure surface broken only by black tree-stumps. Farther back was a tangle of young wood, and beyond this the primeval forest. At a distance of fifty yards from the cabin the snow was discoloured, and Arthur recognised the bog-hole into which he had stumbled on the previous night. "There seems a lot of bog, and I don't see any apple-trees," he remarked. "That there bog's the best land you've got," Jim answered, "but it's got to be drained. The apple-trees are in the bush somewheres; didn't I tell you they've got growed up? You've got to start slashing that bush. It's a job that must be done. And I don't see how you're to do it all alone." "Neither do I," said Arthur. "But if you'd help me, Jim, I think I could soon learn." "I ain't no fruit-rancher," he began again. "Unless I'm mistaken, you're just what you choose to be," said Arthur. "Name your own wage, Jim, and be my teacher." "Well, I'll consider it," said the old man. A couple of days passed, during which Arthur saw nothing of Jim. On the afternoon of the third day Arthur saw his boat moving toward the landing. "I've been getting some things we'll want," said Jim. "You'll find 'em put down to your account. I may as well tell you I've been drunk. Maybe you won't want me now," he added with a grin. "I'll take my chance on that, Jim." "It's a thing what has to be," said the old man with a solemn roll of his gray head. "I ain't no drunkard, understand. I'd think shame of being that. But an occasional booze hurts no one, and is a necessity of life. It kind of limbers up one's wits." "We'll let it go at that," laughed Arthur. And thus the articles of this strange partnership were settled.