ood, or some parties had kindled a
camp-fire.

"Quance, an old fisherman and hunter, lives, there," explained Fred,
"as I believe he has done for fifty years."

"Would you like to make a call on him?" asked Jennie.

"I have no desire to do so; I enjoy this sport better than to sit by
the fire and listen to the most entertaining hunter. Isn't that he?"

The cabin was several rods from the shore, the space in front being
clear of trees and affording an unobstructed view of the little log
structure, with its single door and window in front, and the stone
chimney from which the smoke was ascending. Half-way between the cabin
and the stream, and in the path connecting the two, stood a man with
folded arms looking at them. He was so motionless that he suggested a
stump, but the bright moonlight left no doubt of his identity.

"Holloa, Quance!" shouted Fred, slightly slackening his speed and
curving in toward shore.

The old man made no reply. Then Jennie's musical voice rang out on the
frosty air, but still the hunter gave no sign that he knew he had been
addressed. He did not move an arm nor stir.

"I wonder whether he hasn't frozen stiff in that position," remarked
Sterry. "He may have been caught in the first snap several weeks ago
and has been acting ever since as his own monument."

At the moment of shooting out of sight around the curve the three
glanced back. The old fellow was there, just as they saw him at first.
They even fancied he had not so much as turned his head while they
were passing, but was still gazing at the bank opposite him, or, what
was more likely, peering sideways without shifting his head to any
extent.

The occurrence, however, was too slight to cause a second thought.

They were now fairly under way, as may be said, being more than a mile
from their starting-point. They were proceeding swiftly but easily,
ready to decrease or increase their speed at a moment's notice.
Sometimes they were nigh enough to touch each other's hands, and again
they separated, one going far to the right, the other to the left,
while the third kept near the middle of the stream. Then two would
swerve toward shore, or perhaps it was all three, and again it was
Jennie who kept the farthest from land, or perhaps a fancy led her to
skim so close that some of the overhanging limbs brushed her face.

"Look out; there's an air-hole!" called the brother, at the moment the
three reunited after one of these excursions.