190 THE MOOSE 



as ever. He had skinned lynx before, so went 

 warily. 



From the dim recesses of the hut a fur-clad figure 

 emerged into the flickering light of the fire, whose 

 lurid glare gave the trapper's eagle features a wild, 

 rough beauty almost unearthly. 



" Wal !" he said aloud. " Wal I" and started at 

 the sound. 



Living alone in the forests for months together 

 had made his own voice strange to him. Some- 

 times he found himself repeating his name over 

 and over, lest he forgot. 



" Cretney, Cretney, Cretney.*' 



One day was so like another, that unless he took 

 the precaution of notching a stick, Crusoe-fashion, 

 they telescoped, and became inextricably mixed. 

 He only knew that every day was doomsday. His 

 time-table hung on the door, and counting up the 

 little incisions carefully he realized that the last 

 marked his birthday. 



It made him laugh. His birthday I 



His thoughts flew back to " the lil' islan'," and 

 the days when birthdays counted, before he had 

 "grown-up," and the bottom dropped out of the 

 world. 



