Jerry was always good natured and indulgent. He taught Paul the knack of managing the dogs and sledge, and at length permitted him to drive the team upon level, easy stretches of trail. On steep down grades, however, where the dogs dashed at top speed and the loaded sledge in its mad rush seemed ever on the point of turning over or smashing against a stump or rock, he had no desire to try his skill and strength. But these excursions with the dogs were practically the only adventures that came to the boys. Generally they were kept busy at the woodpile, one at either end of a cross-cut saw, cutting the long wood into stove lengths, and splitting it into proper size; or, when the weather was too stormy for out-of-door employment, Paul assisted Tammas in the blacksmith shop while Dan was kept from idleness by Amos in the cooperage. Paul was always glad to be with Tammas, who had in a sense adopted both lads, and assumed a fatherly interest in their welfare. He was kindness itself, though he never failed to correct them when he deemed it necessary. Under his instruction Paul soon learned a great deal about the handling of tools and the working of iron. The greatest drudgery, it seemed to the boys, that fell to their lot was the weekly duty of cleaning the offices and scrubbing the unpainted furniture and floors to a whiteness satisfactory to the factor. The day before Christmas dawned bitterly cold. The snow creaked under foot. Everything was covered with frost rime. The atmospheric moisture hung suspended in the air in minute frozen particles. When the sun reluctantly rose, it shone faintly through the gauzy veil of rime, and gave forth no warmth to the starved and frozen earth. Paul and Dan were assigned to the woodpile for the day. All forenoon they sawed and split, working for the most part in silence, for they were filled with thoughts of other Christmas eves, and the loved ones at home. “I wonder if we’ll have to work tomorrow?” asked Paul, when they returned to the saw after dinner. “I’m thinkin’ not,” answered Dan. “Amos were sayin’ they keeps Christmas as a holiday.” “If we don’t have to, I want to get out in the bush, away from here, anywhere. I’ll be homesick if I spend Christmas in this place. Can’t we go for a hunt back in the timber, and have a camp fire and a good time?” “’Twould be fine!” agreed Dan. “Now I were thinkin’ of just that myself. I’m wantin’ t’ get off somewheres wonderful bad. I’ve been a bit lonesome all day, thinkin’ of home an what they’s doin’ there, an’ whether they misses me.” Dan’s voice choked, and for the first time since their acquaintance began Paul saw tears in his eyes. Dan hastily brushed them away with his mittened hand, ashamed of giving way to his feelings, and continued more cheerfully: “Mother’s like t’ worry a bit, but Dad won’t let she. Dad’ll be tellin’ she we’re all right. Dad’ll not be fearin’ I can’t take care of myself.”