The contents of his pack were small assortments of hardware. He spread them upon the stump by the log-cabin door. In a mixture of French and English, as musical as any verse, he told them that ammunition was lying in his canoe. He went and fetched it, and also brought with it his own rifle. These things, even the gun, he would trade for skins. "All these of the best, the finest, n'est ce pas?" he asked, throwing out his hands and showing his beautiful teeth. "Voilà, m'sieu!" Doby's father was in need of powder and shot. They fell to business whilst the mother busied herself with supper. She wanted pins, needles, and a candle-snuffer. She hoped after he had eaten home-made dainties, the trader might offer her bargains. Doby stood enthralled beside the collection of nails, hooks, gimlets, and plow-points. Here were the convenient odds and ends needed to make the work on their new home complete. First of all--above and beyond everything else in a boy's sight--was the voyageur's percussion-cap rifle. It was the most improved and best firearm of that day. It was not as heavy as most of them. It had seen service. And what was a curious, but entirely sensible thing, someone had cut off a couple of feet from the end of the barrel! "I believe I could handle that gun," said the boy. "Everybody thinks I am growing fast." The trader took the hint and nodded for him to try it. Doby's greedy fingers closed over the trigger. It was rather heavy, of course, but he could lift and he could carry it. "Fifteen going on sixteen is an age when every boy should have his own rifle," said his father. "But I'm sure our whole fall collection of skins would not pay for it." The trader gave one appraising glance at the really fine stock they had spread for his examination and shook his head until his ear-rings danced. Doby's heart sank like lead. Why was he always so foolish as to set his hopes on the one thing that was beyond reach? Why were guns so expensive? The crafty voyageur was not anxious to part with it. "I think to sell it at much gain to one very rich youth--a hunter great and successful. He is newly a citizen of Vincennes. To him I bear a letter and a present of elegance supreme." "We back out from the trade," laughed Mr. Holman. "We cannot overbid the rich and great." Doby's mind shrank into a sordid little ball of envy. It was not fair for a rich boy to have a "present of elegance supreme" and the rifle both! As he opened his mouth to utter his selfish disappointment, a glance at his mother's sympathetic face, and at his father's resigned one, moved him to shut it again. If he could not own a gun, he could at least be decently quiet about his fate. But to be forever borrowing a gun was so humiliating to a big boy! "Who is this wonderful hunter?" asked the mother, in neighborly curiosity.