to the occasion, and was not aware
of the slightest neglect. At least, his actions were not, by the
neglect of the Trapper, rendered less decided, or the quality of his
appetite affected, for the examination he made of the old man's
cupboard, and the familiarity with which he handled the contents, made
it evident that he was not in the least abashed, or uncertain how to
proceed; for he attacked the provisions with the energy of a man who
had fasted long, and who has at last not only come suddenly to an
ample supply of food, but also feels that for a few moments, at least,
he will be unobserved. The Trapper turned toward the box, and
approached it for a deliberate examination.

"The boards be sawed," he said, "and they come from the mills of the
settlement, for the smoothin'-plane has been over 'em." Then he
inspected the jointing, and noted how truly the edges were drawn.

"The box has come a goodly distance," he said to himself, "fur there
isn't a workman this side of the Horicon that could j'int it in that
fashion. There sartinly ought to be some letterin', or a leetle bit of
writin', somewhere about the chest, tellin' who the box belonged to,
and to whom it was sent." Saying this, the old man unlashed the box
from the sled, and rolled it over, so that the side might come
uppermost. As no direction appeared on the smoothly planed surface, he
rolled it half over again. A little white card neatly tacked to the
board was now revealed. The Trapper stooped, and on the card read,--

JOHN NORTON,

TO THE CARE OF WILD BILL.

"Yis, the 'J' be his'n," muttered the old man, as he spelled out the
word J-o-h-n, "and the big 'N' be as plain as an otter-trail in the
snow. The boy don't make his letters over plain, as I conceit, but the
'J' and the 'N' be his'n." And then he paused for a full minute, his
head bowed over the box. "The boy don't forgit," he murmured, and he
wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "The boy don't forgit." And
then he added, "No, he isn't one of the forgittin' kind. Wild Bill,"
said the Trapper, as he turned toward that personage, whose attack on
the venison haunch was as determined as ever, "Wild Bill, this box be
from Henry!"

"I shouldn't wonder," answered that individual, speaking from a mass
of edibles that filled his mouth.

"And it be a Christmas gift!" continued the old man.

"It looks so," returned Bill, as laconically as before.

"