| 
| 
} 

_ side.” 
_the blankety pole busts. 
over thick tree roots, or sank into dirt- 
filled hollows, I began to have some 
doubt as to the truthfulness of what I 
had said. The load of lumber assumed 
rather “twisty” shapes as it prog- 
ressed; and when, with a low call to 
the horses, Bob ran it down a short 
hill, with harness jingling and chains 
rattling, I felt sure there’d be a spill. 
The wayzon-pole swayed wildly on these 
occasions, and I marveled how the 
horses managed to escape its thrashing. 
ND now we came to where the 
trail I had made branched from 
that of McGregor’s. It was leveller 
than that we had just traversed. The 
wagon got on even keel and went 
quickly forward. 
Then there came a welcoming call 
from Peter. He had sensed the com- 
ing of the other horses. It was the 
call of welcome companionship. One 
of the team made effort to reply. My 
tent came in sight. Another fifty 
yards. We arrived! 
“There’s the place, Bob. Pull up 
near the tent, and unload on the off 
My, but I was eager! 
Another pull, a short turn, a crack— 
and the wagon pole broke clean. 
“Well, ain’t that the doggonedest 
luck! Get to the end of the road and 
Whoa there, 
Charlie! How about dumping the load 
here, son? O. K.?” 
“Tt’ll be all right, Bob. 
broke the pole.” 
“No good being sorry: I can fix it 
to get back. Say, you’re in the woods 
for fair, ain’t you. See any deer down 
this way?” Bob was looking about 
him. “Let’s see your rifle.’ The 
broken wagon-pole was forgotten, as 
being but a minor matter. 
I brought the rifle from the tent. 
Eager as I was to get busy with that 
lumber I realized that Bob was not to 
be hurried. He took the rifle, bal- 
anced it, flung the stock to his shoul- 
der, sighted on an imaginary bear, 
then handed the weapon back. 
“A light gun, but well-balanced. 
Stock isn’t just right for me. Now, 
we'll unload. Where are you going to 
build the cabin?” 
“Right alongside that big red cedar. 
Then I’m going to cut the trees down 
on the bank so I can look across the 
straits. Say, I hope you brought the 
nails, Bob.” 
Sorry you 
“T*VERYTHING, son—door, win- 
dow, floor boards, scantling, shin- 
gles, battens, nails—and a little sur- 
prise your Dad’s sprung on you.” 
“A surprise! What is it, Bob?” 
“In that crate.” 
Now I’d seen the crate securely 
fastened to the top of the lumber pile, 
but had taken no particular interest 
in it because I had thought it con- 
tained some of the building material. 
But now I made a jump for it, and 
ripped away the paper from between 
the slats in the crate. 
“A stove! A cook stove! Two 
plates and an oven! Wow! Good old 
Dad!” 
*“(*UESS you’ll be comfy, all right. 
Now we'll lift off the top stuff 
and then unload. Ever do any build- 
ing before, son?” 
I shook my head. 
“Well now; so this is to be your 
first job.” Bob talked as we unloaded 
the lumber. “But I guess you’ll man- 
age all right. There’s one or two 
things to bear in mind. Use the steel 
square and the level often at the start, 
and with care, and you will find the 
finishing of your building so much 
easier. It’s just the same as in life, 
son: if you start out to be a plumb 
and square chap you’ll develop into a 
plumb and square character. Now me, 
I started off on the wrong— (here’s 
the sills) on the wrong foot first. Say! 
Look at that camp-robber!” 
I turned quickly to follow the direc- 
tion indicated by his finger. In front 
of the tent was a bird of dirty-gray 
plumage, about the size of a robin. 
While I looked, it strutted boldly into 
the tent and out again, and repeated 
the same move. 
(Continued on page 307) 

Bob Young delivers the cornerstone address with due solemnity. 
275 
