TOM AH JOSEPH. 145 



When he sees its contents, pails, pans, legs, 

 funnel, plates, knives, forks, spoons, toaster, coffee- 

 pot, tea-kettle, covers, and all which were packed 

 within it, now lying about covering a world of 

 space, we know he is surprised, excited; but he 

 does not show it, the same stolid Indian gaze, 

 every bit of it. 



"Well, Joe, ever seen the like of that before? " 



" Never ! " 



"What do you think of it?" 



" Can't cook with that ; don't believe it'll work ! " 

 another stroke of the chin. " Guess I better use the 

 old fireplace, and let Mrs. Stevens and you run 

 that." ' 



" Not much, you ignorant Injun : you'll swear by 

 that stove before you get through, old boy." 



"Swear at it, I reckon." 



But when as the sun went down we were enjoy- 

 ing our first good 'meal for three long days, fried 

 salmon, fried potatoes, bacon and eggs, with a 

 splendid cup of tea, and the minor accompani- 

 ments, all cooked in a superior manner, by that dis- 

 trusted stove, Joe relented. 



Instead of a quarter of a cord of fuel, he had 

 used but a few pieces of hemlock-bark, and as 

 many sticks of wood. He surveyed the object of 

 his distrust for a moment, walked about it, gazed 



