"Oh, they ain't havin' half the fun we are," Old Cy answered cheerfully. "Jest now I callate Chip's studyin' 'longside o' Aunt Comfort's fire; mebbe Angie 'n' Martin's over to Dr. Sol's, swappin' yarns. To-morrer Chip'll go ter school, ez usual, 'n' when Sunday comes they'll all dress up 'n' go ter meetin'. One thing is sartin, they ain't takin' any more comfort'n we are, or gittin' better things to eat. If the weather warms up, ez I callate it will in a day or two, we'll pull some trout out o' the lake that 'ud make all Greenvale stare. They allus bite sharp arter a cold spell. Ez fer Chip," he continued, eying Ray's sober face, "she ain't goin' to fergit ye, never fear, an' when I take ye out o' the woods in the spring 'n' start ye fer Greenvale with five hundred dollars in yer inside pocket, ez I callate, ye'll feel's though ye owned the hull town when ye git thar, an' Chip'll feel ez tho' she owned ye." "I wish I could hear how they are once in a while," Ray rejoined. "They may be sick." That "they" meant Chip was self-evident. Once a mood comes upon a person, it is hard to change it, and of all the moods that torture poor human beings, the love mood is the most implacable. While the zest of trapping was upon Ray, he was himself and a cheerful enough lad. There had also been the spice of danger from this unknown, thieving trapper; but when both had vanished, and all that was left for excitement was the monotony of indoor life, with occasional half-days when fishing through the ice was permissible, his spirits fell to low tide. Old Cy had feared this from the outset, but believing that the experience here was the best possible for the boy, to say nothing of the financial side, he had brought it about. And now he had his hands full. But he was equal to it. Next to sport, work, he knew, was the best panacea for any mental disorder, and work a-plenty he now found for Ray. First, it had been the making of tip-ups for use on the lake, then snow-shoes for both of them, and then cutting and splitting more wood. They had an ample supply already, piled high in a lean-to alongside the big cabin, but Old Cy asserted that it was not enough, and so more was added. The paths, one to the lake to obtain water and one to the ice-house, were allotted to Ray to keep open. A few days were consumed in filling the ice-house once more, and when a warm day came, Old Cy led the way to the sheltered side of the lake, as enthusiastic as a boy, to begin cutting holes and setting lines for fishing. This especially interested Ray, and one good day with a fine catch of trout would revive his spirits for some time. Each and every evening, also, when the social side came, Old Cy, always a prolific story-teller, would engage in his favorite pastime for a purpose.