On the floor in the corner back of the stove they built the bunk. There were not nails enough nor were the boxes strong enough to allow of making a substantial bunk such as the owner of the shack had built against the side logs. Until the bunk was completed, Leslie, while working docilely enough under the older boy's direction, regarded the more comfortable bunk as his permanent possession. He had never been taught to be unselfish. He had from his motherless childhood demanded what he wished and received it until the question arose of his continued attendance in school. There he had taken the course he wished and was now paying for it dearly. It was not until he was dividing the straw in his bunk and had come across Ross's watch and pocketbook that the idea smote him hard that the other had vacated the easier bunk in a wordless generosity that he, Leslie, had never practiced, and that he had not even thanked the bunk's former occupant. "See here, Ross," he began brusquely, "you needn't think that you're going to rest your old bones in the new bunk all the time, for you ain't! I shall try it myself half the time." "Week and week about, then," Ross agreed. "And this brings us up against a calendar. I brought my watch, thank fortune! But what about a calendar? I want to be sure that I know when the 4th of July gets here, for Steele says you'd never know it except by the calendar, there's so much snow." "Snow!" groaned Leslie. "Snow! There's never a time when there isn't snow in these mountains, it seems. Well, I know what day to-morrow is, and--have you a pencil?" Ross slapped the breast pocket of his slicker. "Yep, a long one. And there's one in the pockets of the trousers you'll find in that box," nodding toward the repository of the shack owner's clothing. "Guess we will keep a record of the days up on the side logs. I know how many in each month when I say that old jingle, 'Thirty days hath September,' etc." But the need of a calendar was not so pressing as the need of wood. The few days that Ross had spent in the shack had caused an alarming shrinkage in the pile of chunks already cut; and Ross, commencing to shovel his way to the nearest pine tree, now ran across a number of logs which had been "snaked" down the mountainside before the snow came, and lay ready for the axe and saw. "I guess if Aunt Anne were here, she'd not complain that I took no exercise," he muttered grimly, shouldering a short cross cut saw. While he sawed Leslie got dinner. After dinner Leslie took his turn at the saw and axe while Ross considered the matter of the calendar. Looking about the shack, his glance fell on Weston's game pouch. He had hung it on a peg driven between two side logs and had forgotten it. "The very thing!" he exclaimed aloud. "We can mark the days on the margin of the old newspapers that are in the bottom of that pouch."