490 
white men about him, and his manner 
betrayed.a shyness which comes of the 
lack of self-conceit in the midst of 
boisterous . self-assertion. He waited 
his turn at the broom and slouched 
with a long, bent-kneed Indian stride 
to, his bunk in the corner where his dry 
socks had been awaiting him before 
Dan McAvay’s entrance. 
' Jimmy Friday was going “out” next 
day. He had spoken to the foreman 
about it that morning and the clerk 
having made out his time, the news 
spread straightway—Jimmy Friday was 
going “out” for Christmas. 
In the lumber woods “out” means out 
of the woods or home, wherever that 
happens to be. In Jimmy’s case “out” 
meant farther “in”; for the halfbreed 
village at Bear Island was the best part 
of one hundred miles to the north. 
Jimmy Friday’s grandfather was 
French—“pure,” as Jimmy would on 
confidential occasions be proud to em- 
phasize—that is, he had been in this 
life, before the Hudson’s Bay company 
worked him to death at the immature 
age of 76, many years before. Jimmy’s 
grandmother was Ojibwa, and so was 
his mother. To all visible intents and 
purposes Jimmy himself was Indian, 
with the smooth bronze face, the big 
hawk nose and the straight black hair. 
of his‘mother’s people. Meek and sub- 
missive in manner, strangely gentle in 
the midst of rough, hulking Scotch and 
Irish shantymen, no man in camp could 
swing an ax more cunningly than he 
and no man in camp could tire him on 
his feet. | 
Hence for his ability was he re- 
spected; for his inoffensiveness he was 
liked, and for his meekness was he 
made the butt for all the camp. For 
though the meek may in the end inherit 
the earth, evidence goes to show that it 
is not this earth to which Scripture 
refers. 
“Where’s dem sock?” cried Jimmy, 
in the first shock of his surprise. 
“Lost something, Jimmy?” inquired 
Dan McAvay, strolling over. In the 
silence that stole over the pre-supper 
RECREATION 
confusion of the sleeping-camp Jimmy 
perceived that the knowledge of his loss — 
was common property;and he shrank 
into his shell of stoicism with sensitive 
alarm. Chita, 
‘“Who’s got Jimmy’s socks?’ cried 
Dan, and the whole camp took up the 
cry —‘“Who stole the Frenchman’s 
socks?” The fact of Jimmy’s lone 
French ancestor and his pride therein 
had leaked out, and because he looked 
Ojibwa through and through, the 
camp’s crude sense of humor held him 
constantly a Frenchman. 
Jimmy sat bashfully in the midst of 
the attention turned on himself, smiling 
a little in deprecation and wiping his 
wet feet with the corner of his blanket. 
“There’s a thief in this camp all 
right,” declared Dan. “I lostea vent 
myself yesterday morning.” 
“That chore boy’s been actin’ sus- 
picious lately,” said the blacksmith, 
with mock solemnity. 
“Who stole the Frenchman’s socks ?” 
roared the camp, till the spruce rafters 
rattled. 
The loud boom of a poker beaten by 
a broom handle announcing supper at 
this juncture diverted attention and the 
crew filed and crowded through the 
cookery door, leaving Jimmy to his 
own reflections. He followed them 
very shortly, however, and ate as much 
as any of them. But when Dan Mc- 
Avay crawled into his bunk that night 
the stolen socks were gone. 
* * * * * * 
It was fully two hours before day- 
_ light when Jimmy Friday crawled out 
of his corner bunk and lighted a piece 
of candle. Then with deliberate, 
thoughtful movements he stuffed his 
rabbit-skin blanket into a grain-bag, 
produced a piece of raw fat pork from 
among the straw and placed it also in 
the bag. From the water barrels at 
the window he brought the camp’s 
great tin drinking cup and tied it by the 
handle to the string at the mouth of his" 
“turkey.”* He felt for the potato in 
* Dunnage-bag. 
