his halting acceptance of his companionship
had he not known in his heart that it was nothing more than he well
deserved. But the doubt cast upon his woodcraft piqued him.

"Hain't I never set for hours in the wet ma'sh, never movin' a finger,
waitin' for the geese?" he asked with injury in his voice. "Hain't I
never sneaked up on a watchin' buck, or laid so still I've fooled a
bear?"

The Boy chuckled softly at this outbreak, so unexpected in the
taciturn and altogether superior Jabe.

"You're all right, Jabe!" said he. "I reckon you can keep still. But
you must let me be captain, for to-night! This is my trick."

"Sartain," responded the woodsman with alacrity. "I'll eat mud if you
say so! But I'll take along a hunk of cold bacon if you hain't got no
objection."

On the trail through the ghostly, moonlit woods, Jabe followed
obediently at the Boy's heels. Silently as shadows they moved,
silently as the lynx or the moose or the weasel goes through the
softly parting undergrowth. The Boy led far away from the brook, and
over the crest of the ridge, to avoid alarming the vigilant sentries.
As they approached the head of the canal, their caution redoubled, and
they went very slowly, bending low and avoiding every patch of
moonlight. The light breeze, so light as to be almost imperceptible,
drew upward toward them from the meadow, bringing now and then a scent
of the fresh-dug soil. At last the Boy lay down on his belly; and Jabe
religiously imitated him. For perhaps fifty yards they crept forward
inch by inch, till at length they found themselves in the heart of a
young fir thicket, through whose branches they could look out upon the
head of the canal and the trees where the beavers had most recently
been cutting.

Among the trees and in the water, all was still, with the mystic,
crystalline stillness of the autumn moonlight. In that light
everything seemed fragile and unreal, as if a movement or a breath
might dissolve it. After a waiting of some ten minutes Jabe had it on
the tip of his tongue to whisper, derisively, "Nothin' doin'!" But he
remembered the Boy's injunction, as well as his doubts, and checked
himself. A moment later a faint, swirling gurgle of water caught his
ear, and he was glad he had kept silence. An instant more, and the
form of a beaver, spectral-gray in the moonlight, took shape all at
once on the brink of the canal. For several minutes it stood there
motionless, erect upon its hind quarter