For two weeks the little party at Birch Camp first watched and then began to enjoy themselves once more. September had come, the first tint of autumn colored every patch of hardwood, a mellow haze softened the outline of each green-clad hill and mountain, the sun rose red and sailed an unclouded course each day, and gentle breezes rippled the lake. The forest, the sky, the air and earth, all seemed in harmonious mood, and the one discordant note, fear of this half-breed, slowly vanished.

Chip resumed her hour of study each day; a little fishing and hunting was indulged in by Martin and the two officers; wild ducks, partridges, deer, and trout supplied their table; each evening all gathered about the open fire in Martin’s new cabin, and while the older people chatted, Ray took his banjo or whispered with Chip.

These two, quite unguessed by Angie, had become almost lovers, and as it was understood Chip was to be taken to Greenvale, all that wonder-world, to her, had been described by Ray many times. He also outlined many little plans for sleigh-rides, skating on the mill-pond, and dances which he and she were to enjoy together.

His own future and livelihood were a little hazy to him. These matters do not impress a youth of eighteen; but of one thing he felt sure,–that Chip with her rosy face and black eyes, always tender to him, was to be his future companion in all pleasures. It was love among the spruce trees, a summer idyl made tender by the dangers interrupting it, and hidden from all eyes except Old Cy’s, who was these young friends’ favorite.

How many times he had taken these two over the ridge during the first two weeks, and picked berries while they played at it, or crossed the lake in his canoe to leave them on the shore while he cast for trout, no one but himself knew, and he wasn’t telling.

Even now, with these two strangers about, Old Cy, Chip, and Ray somehow seemed to “flock by themselves.” Old Cy took them canoeing. They paddled up streams entering the lake. He showed them where muskrats were house-building, where mink had runways, and otter had sliding spots; and to forestall a plan of his own, he enlarged upon the fun and profit of trapping here when the time came. If these two young doves cooed a little meantime, he never heard it; if they held hands unduly long, he never saw it; and if they exchanged kisses behind his back–well, it was their own loss if they didn’t.

But these days of mingled romance and tragic happenings, of shooting, fishing, story-telling, and wildwood life, were nearing their end, and one evening Martin announced that on the morrow they would pack their belongings and, escorted by the officers, leave the wilderness.

The next morning Old Cy took Ray aside.

“I want a good square talk with ye, my boy,” he said, “an’ I’m goin’ to do ye a good turn if I kin. Now to begin, I s’pose ye know yer aunt’s goin’ to take Chip to Greenvale ’n’ gin her a chance at the schoolin’ she sartinly needs. Now you’re callatin’ to go ’long ’n’ have a heap o’ fun this winter. I’m goin’ to stay here ’n’ keer for Amzi. This is the situation ’bout as it is. Now you hev got yer eddication, ’n’ the next move is to make yer way in the world ’n’ arn suthin’, an’ ez a starter, I want ye to stay here this winter with me ’n’ trap. The woods round here is jist bristlin’ with spruce gum that is worth a dollar-fifty a pound, easy. We’ve got two months now, ’fore snow gits deep. We kin live on the top shelf in the way o’ fish ’n’ game. We’ll ketch a b’ar and pickle his meat ’n’ smoke his hams, and when spring comes, I’ll take ye out with mebbe five hundred dollars’ worth of furs ’n’ gum ez a beginnin’.

“Thar’s also ’nother side to consider. Chip wants schoolin’, ’n’ she’s got to study night ’n’ day fer the next eight months. If you go back with ’em, an’ go gallivantin’ ’round with her, ez you’re sure to, it won’t be no help to her. I’ve given you two all the chances fer weavin’ the threads o’ ’fect-shun I could this summer, an’ now let’s you ’n’ I turn to and make some money. I’ve asked your uncle ’n’ aunt. They’re willin’, ’n’ now, what do ye say?”

Few country boys with a love for trapping, such as Ray had, ever had a more alluring prospect spread before them. He knew Old Cy was right in all his conclusions, and almost without hesitation he agreed to the plan.

It was far-sighted wisdom on Old Cy’s part, however, in not giving Ray time to reflect, else the magnet of Chip’s eyes on the one hand, and eight months of separation on the other, would have proved too strong, and trap-setting and gum-gathering, with five hundred dollars as reward, would have failed.

As it was, he came near weakening at the last moment when the canoes were packed and Angie and Chip came to take their seats in them.

He and his crude, rude, yet winsome little sweetheart had suffered a brief preliminary parting the evening previous. A good many sweet and silly nothings had been exchanged, also promises, and now the boy’s heart was very sore.

Chip was more stoical. Her life at Tim’s Place and contact with Old Tomah had taught her reserve, and yet when she turned for the last possible look at Old Cy and Ray, waving good-bye at the landing, a mist of tears hid them.

Old Cy’s face was also a study. To him these parting clouds were as the white ones hiding the sun; yet he felt their chill. His own life shadow was lengthening. He had now but a brief renewal of youth in the lives of these two, and then forgetfulness, as he knew full well, and yet he pitied them.

More than that, he had set his hand to guiding the bark of their young lives into the safe harbor of a home, and all feelings of his own subserved to that.

“Come, come, my boy,” he said to Ray as the two turned away, and he noted the lad’s sad face, “she’s gone now, an’ ye’d best ferget her fer a spell. Ye won’t, I know, ’n’ she won’t; but ye’d best make believe ye do. This ain’t no spot fer love-sick spells. We’ve got work to do, ’n’ money to arn; ye’ve got the chance o’ yer life now, an’ me to help ye to it, so brace up ’n’ look cheerful.

“Think o’ what we got to do to git ready fer winter ’n’ six foot o’ snow. Think o’ the traps we’re goin’ to set, an’ the fun o’ tendin’ ’em. Why, girls ain’t in it a minnit with ketchin’ mink, marten, otter, an’ now ’n’ then a lynx or bobcat. Then when ye go back with a new suit ’n’ money in yer pocket, ye’ll feel prouder’n a peacock, ’n’ Chip a-smilin’ at ye sweeter’n new maple syrup.”

Verily Old Cy had the wisdom of age and the cheerfulness of morning sunshine.

All that day these wilderness-marooned friends worked hard. An ample stock of birch wood must be cut and split, a shed of poles to cover it must be erected alongside of the cabin, the hermit’s log hut was to be divested of its fittings, which were to be removed to the new cabin which all were now to occupy.

Realizing how vital to their existence the canoes were, Old Cy had also planned a shelter of small logs for them on one side of the log cabin, that could be locked. Here the canoes not in use must be stored at once to guard against a night call from the malignant half-breed. His canoe had been taken along by Martin’s party, to be left at Tim’s Place, for even Hersey would have scorned to appropriate it.

There were dozens of other needs to prepare for during the next two months, all of which were important. An ample supply of deer meat must be secured, to be pickled and smoked. All the partridges they could shoot would be needed, and later, when south-bound ducks halted at the lake, a few of these would add to their larder.

In this connection, also, another need occurred to Old Cy. Trout could be caught all winter in the lake, but live bait must be had, and so a slat car to be sunk in some swift-running stream, which would hold them, must be constructed, also a scoop of mosquito net to catch them. These minnows were to be found now by the million in every brook, and forethought was Old Cy’s watchword.

All these duties and details he discussed that first day with Ray, while they worked, for a purpose.

But the first evening here, with its open fire, yet empty seats, was the hardest to pass. In vain Old Cy enlarged upon the joys of trap-setting once more, and how and where they were to secure gum. In vain he described how deadfalls were built and where they must be placed, how many signs of lynx and wildcat he had seen that summer, and how sure they were to secure some of these valuable furs.

Ray’s heart was not here. Far away in some night camp, Chip was thinking of him. He knew each day would bear her farther away. No word of her safe arrival could reach them now. Long months must elapse ere he and she could meet again, and in prospect they seemed an eternity.

“Come, git yer banjo, my boy,” Old Cy ejaculated at last, seeing Ray’s face grow gloomy. “Tune ’er up, an’ play us suthin’ lively. None o’ them goody-goody weepin’ sort o’ tunes; but give us ‘Money Musk’ ’n’ a few jigs. I’m feelin’ our prospects are so cheerful, I’d like to cut a few pigeon-wings out o’ compliment.”

But Old Cy’s hilarity was nearly all put on. He, too, felt the effect of the empty seats and missed every one that had gone, and Ray’s jig tunes lacked their spirit. He essayed a few, and then quite unconsciously his fingers strayed to “My Old Kentucky Home,” and Old Cy’s feelings responded.