268 



RECREATION. 



house, and seating himself on the edge of 

 a bench, produced his pipe. It was black 

 and short, and, worse still, empty. The 

 mistress of the house came out of the 

 kitchen. 



"Well, Gabe, what do you want?" she 

 asked. 



"Good mornin',. You seem in big hurry," 

 replied Gabe. 



"I have my work to do," said the wom- 

 an, "and so should you." 



Gabe smiled. "Me work hard. Tree 

 week take Big John way up Tokik. Pole 

 um up miles. Push um through rapid, tote 

 um round ! Near bust. Big John, he weigh 

 2 tun an' sit in canoe all day an' fish an' 

 smoke. That hard work, ugh?" 



"What are you doing now ?" she demand- 

 ed. 



"Takin' little rest," replied Gabe, "but no 

 'baccy to smoke." 



With her sharp grey eyes the .mistress 

 stared at the impecunious brave in a way 

 that would have killed an ordinary mortal. 

 Gabe looked at the woodpile and grunted. 

 He had been stared at before. He had 

 been lectured, scolded and even threatened 

 with a mop handle, but the tobacco had 

 always turned up. 



"Me go help Jim cut hay," he said at 

 last. 



The woman laughed. 



"Why, he wouldn't have you in the 

 field," she retorted. 



She retired into the kitchen, and soon 

 came out with a plug of black tobacco. 

 Gabe accepted it with a silent smile, and 

 immediately set about filling his pipe. The 

 mistress stood before him, her hands on 

 her hips, trying to look as if she did not 

 enjoy the sight of Gabe enjoying himself. 

 It took him a long time to find his matches. 

 At last he rolled a thin blue cloud into 

 the air and sniffed critically. 



"Not like 'baccy John an' me smoke up 

 Tokik," he said. 



"It's good enough for you, you lazy crit- 

 ter," replied the woman ; "so now go 

 away, and the next time you come be sure 

 to bring me a basket." 



Gabe left his seat with a weary sigh and 

 passed out into the sunlight. At the top 

 of the bank he met Jim Hollis, the owner 

 of the farm. 



"Hullo, Gabe," said the farmer, heartily, 

 "how are you ?" 



"Good," said Gabe. Then, with a grave 

 face, he produced the tobacco. 



"Your squaw, he give me this," he con- 

 tinned, "an' he call me dam bad names, 

 jus' like always." Hollis laughed. 



"My squaw is a good woman, Gabe, and 

 you should hear what she calls me some- 

 times," he said. Then he passed on to rig 

 up the mowing machine. 



Before Gabe had gone half way down the 

 path his quick eye noted the absence of his 

 canoe. He sprang on to the beach and 

 looked toward the thoroughfare which 

 races between the island and the main- 

 land. There was the canoe drawing 

 steadily down to the swift water, 

 broadside on ; and over the gunwale he 

 saw the smiling faces of Jim Hollis' 5- 

 year-old twins. It was the work of but a 

 few seconds for the Maliseet to cross the 

 shingle, snatch up a spruce pole and push 

 the dugout into the current. His dark eyes 

 burned with the joy of action and the 

 chase. The dugout swam like a hemlock 

 log, so weary had it grown of sun and 

 rain, spring, summer and winter. Gabe 

 put his whole skill and strength into it, 

 surging on the pole until the sullen old 

 craft darted like a fish. The shallow wa- 

 ters of the thoroughfare laughed and rat- 

 tled over the pebbles. The canoe ahead 

 rushed down toward the deeper places, 

 toward the black pools under the willows, 

 where sticks of submerged driftwood swing 

 in the amber shadows like evil monsters. 

 The children, feeling the awe of the deeper 

 water, began to cry. In their fear they 

 crowded together toward one side of the 

 canoe and turned it over. Gabe had 

 brought the dugout along the island shore, 

 where bottom could be found for the pole, 

 and when the lighter craft turned over he 

 ran forward and jumped toward mid- 

 stream. After half a minute's hard work 

 he landed on a spit of sand with the 

 speechless, water-logged twins. There he 

 left them, and ran along the shore to 

 where the canoe, bottom up, swung uncer- 

 tainly in an eddy. 



It was dinner time at the farm when 

 Gabe appeared in the kitchen, leading the 

 crestfallen twins. He had lost his hat and 

 his black hair hung in wet wisps across his 

 forehead. . A freckled kitchen girl, who 

 was dishing potatoes at the moment of 

 their entrance, screamed, and let everything 

 fall to the floor. The mistress of the 

 house rushed in. 



"What's the matter?" she cried. 



"Your papooses steal my canoe," said 

 Gabe, "an' then turn over. Me pick um up, 

 git all wet and spoil 'baccy." 



He grunted and turned toward the door. 



"You mean that you saved the little beg- 

 gars from drowning," said Jim Hollis, who 

 had followed his wife from the dinner ta- 

 ble. 



"Yes," replied Gabe. "Lazy white squaw 

 can't take care own papooses, so ole Gabe 

 he do it, ugh !" 



With this parting shot he left the house, 

 but smiled as he went down the path, for 

 he knew that in future, tobacco would be 

 his without the asking. 



