Hiram answered.
‘Then, thunder, pitch into the basket,’ his new friend said encouragingly.
Hiram obeyed, and made an excellent lunch off cold hare and lake ship-biscuit.
‘Are you through?’ the men asked at last.
‘Yes,’ Hiram replied.
‘Then come along and see the fun out.’
They skated on, still upward, in the general direction of the blackberry bottom. When they got there, Hiram, now quite at home, pointed out even more accurately than ever the exact homes of each individual mink and ermine. So the men worked away eagerly at their task till the evening began to come over. Then Hiram, all aglow with excitement and wholly oblivious of all earthly considerations, became suddenly aware of a gaunt figure moving about among the dusky brushwood and making in the direction of his friends the trappers. ‘Hello,’ he cried to his new acquaintances in a frightened tone, ‘you’d best cut it. Thar’s the deacon.’
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