as a
soldier would say. To put it differently, he'd begin to think as you
did, for though you said nothing I could see your first thought was
about your father. Wasn't it?"

"Of course," said Chris huskily.

"Yes, of course; and he'd say to himself, `There's my boy over yonder
with that long, thin Yankee chap.' We must join them at once. Now,
don't you see, if anything had happened we should have met them before
now?"

Chris could not speak, but reached over to hold out his hand, which was
warmly grasped by Griggs, who then began to talk cheerily.

"Very stupid of me," he said. "I was feeling tired and mouldy. I've
had precious little sleep, fidgeting about this wild-goose sort of
expedition. I'm precious hungry too, and that makes a poor fellow feel
low-spirited. My word, I mean to make my mark in that roast turkey
to-night! _Sniff, sniff, sniff_! That isn't roasting I can smell,
coming with the wind, is it?"

Chris laughed, and Griggs went on chatting.

"Keep a tight rein over these stony bits. I do like to take care of a
horse," he said. "Poor beggars, they're the best of friends, but I do
wish they wouldn't be such cowards. Getting up a stampede like that and
chipping and straining themselves, all on account of a bear. They've no
pluck."

"Then I suppose I've none either," said Chris, "for the bear frightened
me."

"Ha, ha! Yes, and poor Mr Bourne too. My word, didn't he holloa!"

"And no wonder," said Chris. "Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"I just should. I say, though, I hope they haven't shot any of those
tough old gobblers, years old. They're as stringy as a fiddle. One
just a full year old's the sort of fellow we want. Who'll be cook?
Your comrade Ned, I expect. If he has let the bird burn I'll never
forgive him."

"There'll be no turkey, Griggs," said Chris.

"What! Why?"

"Because father won't have any firing."

"Well, they might trap one, or knock one over with a stick sent flying
like a boomerang."

"Here, I say, don't!" cried Chris. "I'm so hungry too that it makes my
mouth water. Here, I know what we shall have for supper."

"Yes, what?" cried Griggs eagerly.

"One of those big tins of preserved meat warmed up with water in the
kettle like a thick soup, and damper cakes, and tea as well."

"And not a bad supper either, lad, for hungry folks. Glad of it, for
I've no faith in Ned Bourne's cooking. He can make capital tea and
coffee, but when it comes t