ought to be, and I
was so ashamed of 'em that I took the whole lot out and buried 'em.
Supposin'," added George, in an awed whisper, "supposin' we had 'em
now!"

"Why what in the world would you do with them?" asked Hubbard.

"Um!" grunted George. "Well, I guess we'd find a way to use 'em, all
right."

The story of the buried cookies started us all to talking of doughnuts,
and cake, and pie, and Hubbard extolled the merits of the chocolate
served at one of the New York hotels.

"Wallace," he at length asked, "do you like pig's knuckles?"

"I like," I replied, "anything that can be eaten."

"Well," confided Hubbard, "I know a place down on Park Row where they
serve the best pigs' knuckles you ever ate. I used to go there for
them when I was on the old Daily News. They cook them just right, and
serve a big plate of nice greasy cabbage or sauerkraut with them, and a
cup of pretty good coffee. We'll have to go there some time when we
get back."

And until it was time to go to sleep Hubbard continued to talk of the
good dinners he had eaten when a child and of those his wife had
recently prepared at his Congers home.

As he had decided that before proceeding farther we should know
something of the country that lay to the northward, Hubbard on Monday
morning (August 31) sent George on a scouting trip to the short range
of mountains just ahead. He and I planned to spend the day catching
and drying fish. For some reason the fish refused to rise near the
camp, and Hubbard, who was so weak he could hardly stand, returned to
lie down, while I went farther down the stream. Towards luncheon-time I
returned with only two or three small fish. Hubbard was still resting
in the tent, but soon after I had begun to repair my fishing rod by the
fire he came out and joined me.

"Oh, how glad I'll be, Wallace," he said, "to get to Michikamau and
finish my work here and get home again! I've been wondering when that
will be. I'm afraid," he added slowly, "I've been a bit homesick
to-day."

"We'll surely get there soon, old man," I said encouragingly, "and when
we do get there, we'll appreciate it more than ever. Just think how it
will be to eat good bread, and all we want of it." "Yes," he said, "and
then we'll be glad we came here, and can laugh at the recollection of
these terrible ridges, and the whole awful country, and the hard times
we've been through. I'm dead glad I had just you two fellows come with
me. If I'd