120 A SPORTING PARADISE 



busy preparing a meal for his guest. This meal 

 may have been tasty, but it certainly did not 

 look so. A well-worn frying-pan was much to 

 the front as a weapon of culinary art. Eggs 

 were broken over a lump of pork, and much 

 stirring was resorted to amidst the sickly frizzle 

 of fat. Joe entered upon the accomplishments 

 of a cook with much zeal and amusing solemnity. 

 " At length I became weary of this long silence. 

 To attract his attention I shuffled my feet, 

 trimmed the stove, and performed other acts of 

 nervous impatience. I endeavoured to start a 

 conversation, and began in a cheery tone to 

 inquire if he had had good luck lately with his 

 traps. The question was ill-chosen and un- 

 fortunate, because my chief reason for stopping 

 here was to gain information as to my route. 

 Now, probably, he would interpret my journey 

 into a desire to poach upon his preserves. He 

 did not answer the question, but raising one eye 

 half-closed, he looked me up and down from 

 the snow on my feet to the icicles on my fur 

 cap, and then violently stirred the fry. Five 

 minutes passed in silence, and then Joe's face 

 seemed to brighten. According to his unques- 

 tionable authority, the savoury food was cooked 



