“Why, I’ve heard that in some of the towns folks buy ’em to hang their hats on. Odd! Lend a hand.” Reluctantly, Adrian did lift his portion of heavy horns and helped carry them to the birch. He realized that the quickest way of putting this disagreeable spot behind him was by doing as he was asked. He was hopeless of influencing the other by any change in his own feelings, and wisely kept silence. But they hunted no more that day, nor did they make any further progress on their journey. Pierre busied himself in erecting a rude frame, upon which he stretched the moose skin to dry. He also prepared the antlers and built a sort of hut, of saplings and bark, where he could store his trophies till his return trip. “For I shall surely come back this same way. It’s good hunting ground and moose feed in herds. Small herds, course, but two three make a fello’ rich. Eh?” Adrian said nothing. He occupied himself in what Pierre considered a silly fashion, sketching, studying “effects,” and carefully cutting big pieces of the birch bark that he meant to use for canvas. To keep this flat during his travels was a rather difficult problem, but finally solved by cutting two slabs of cedar wood and placing the sheets of bark between these. Whereupon Pierre laughed and assured the weary chopper that he had had his trouble for his pains. “What for you want to carry big lumber that way? Roll your bark. That’s all right. When you want to use it, put it in water. Easy. Queer how little you know about things.” “All right. I was silly, sure enough. But thanks for your teaching. Maybe, if you were in my city, I might show you a thing or two.” Both lads were glad, however, when night came, and, having cooked themselves a good supper and replenished their fire, they slept as only such healthy lads can sleep; to wake at sunrise, ready for fresh adventures, and with the tragedy of the previous day partly forgotten, even by Adrian. Then, after a hearty breakfast, they resumed their trip. Nothing eventful occurred for some time after. No more moose appeared, and, beyond winging a duck or two and fishing now and then, Pierre kept his hunting instincts down. In fact, he was just then too lazy to exert himself. He felt that he had labored beyond all reason during the past summer and needed a rest. Besides, were not his wages steadily going on? If Adrian was silly enough to paint and paint and paint all day, this old tree and that mossy stump, he was not responsible for another man’s stupidity. Not he. The food was still holding out, so let things take their course. Suddenly, however, Adrian realized that they were wasting time. He had made sketches on everything and anything he could find, and had accumulated enough birch bark to swamp the canoe, should they strike rough water; and far more than was comfortable for him to carry over any portage. So he one morning announced his intention of leaving the wilderness and getting back to civilization.