Sammy was smiting away at an old pine log for more firewood.
"Good morning," she cried. "It is a perfect shame that you allowed me to
sleep so long. Oh! The beautiful trout! Where did you get them?"
I explained my capture, and told her that a few moments had been enough
to secure all that were needed for all hands. The two men grinned at her
delightedly, as she went up to them, happy and smiling, and she had to
inform them that she had spent a wonderful night of such sleep as no one
could possibly get outside of the wilderness.
"Isn't it all lovely and cheerful!" she exclaimed. "Now I insist on being
useful too. Won't you let me fry the trout?"
She knelt by the fire, holding a frying pan whose hollow handle had been
fitted with a long stick. The big dab of butter soon melted, and in a
moment the trout were crepitating and curling up in the pan, sending
forth heavenly odors.
"We can take our time," I told her, "for we will not look for another
stag to-day. All that meat is going to make a heavy load to take back."
"But it is a shame," she said, contritely. "You were going for a hunt,
and now that I have killed the stag you won't have any sport at all."
"I have had as good sport as any man has the right to expect," I said.
"Please don't believe that it all lies in pulling a trigger. It is just
this sort of thing that makes hunting glorious; the cheery fire and the
flapping tent doors, the breeze ruffling the lake, the sitting at night
by the fire and the tales we heard there.
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