finely. One day, the call to nature was too
insistent. He got out his gun, told his wife to tell Mr. MacPherson at
the store that he would not be down to the big saw mill to work for a
few days, and he started back into the country. The rivers were rather
swollen then, the woods were wet and damp, but there was the rush of
life in the trees and in the very air itself. Pierre swung along with
Jean by his side, his heart full of happiness. He had had a good
winter's hunt and his wife had money for everything necessary. But more
than anything else he wanted the golden sunshine, the ripple of the
waters in the stream, the curved body of the salmon as they darted out
of the water in their eagerness to get up the streams. He told his boy
that though they had come out for game, he really just wanted to be in
the woods when the buds were coming out and when he could feel the sap
driving up from the ground into the furthest shoots of the bushes and
trees. Jean's face was just as bright as his own and he raised his head
and sniffed the air as if in answer to the voice of spring that reigned
everywhere.

"Back they went along the wood road. They stopped for lunch at the foot
of a riffle where they very soon caught all the trout they wished to
find. They made their whole lunch on the fish, using only a little salt
to make it palatable; a simple fare but really good enough for a king.
On they went after lunch and they were lucky enough to bag four
partridges as they went along. Early in the afternoon, they came to an
old lumber camp and they decided to stay there for the night. It can
well be imagined that though Pierre and his son said little to each
other, they were enjoying themselves just like two boys playing hookey
from school. They had spent the winter in the freedom and wildness of
the woods and a month of the dreary grind in the saw mill had made them
as restive as colts.

"They made a fine supper off the partridges and were up early the next
morning. The remains of the partridges and some freshly caught trout set
them on their way again with well filled stomachs and happy hearts. They
had not gone far before Pierre stopped dead. 'I smell bear,' said he to
Jean. 'Big black one,' said Jean, as he looked around. How he had known
that it was big and black will remain one of the mysteries that
distinguish the real Indian from his woodland imitators. They looked
around and sure enough they had not gone far before they saw an ol