“You better come home for milk every day or every other day, at least,” remarked the mother.

“We’d ruther steal it from the cows in the pasture,” ventured Sam, “seems naturaler to me Injun blood.”

“If I ketch ye foolin’ round the cows or sp’ilin’ them the fur’ll fly,” growled Raften.

“Well, kin we hook apples and cherries?” and Sam added in explanation; “they’re no good to us unless they’re hooked.”

“Take all the fruit ye want.”

“An’ potatoes?”

“Yes.”

“An’ aigs?”

“Well, if ye don’t take more’n ye need.”

“An’ cakes out of the pantry?  Indians do that.”

“No; howld on now.  That is a good place to draw the line.  How are ye goin’ to get yer staff down thayer?  It’s purty heavy.  Ye see thayer are yer beds an’ pots an’ pans, as well as food.”

“We’ll have to take a wagon to the swamp and then carry them on our backs on the blazed trail,” said Sam, and explained “our backs” by pointing to Michel and Si at work in the yard.

“The road goes as far as the creek,” suggested Yan; “let’s make a raft there an’ take the lot in it down to the swimming-pond; that’d be real Injun.”

“What’ll ye make the raft of?” asked Raften.

“Cedar rails nailed together,” answered Sam.

“No nails in mine,” objected Yan; “that isn’t Injun.”

“An’ none o’ my cedar rails fur that.  ’Pears to me it’d be less work an’ more Injun to pack the stuff on yer backs an’ no risk o’ wettin’ the beds.”

So the raft was given up, and the stuff was duly carted to the creek’s side.  Raften himself went with it.  He was a good deal of a boy at heart and he was much in sympathy with the plan.  His remarks showed a mixture of interest, and doubt as to the wisdom of letting himself take so much interest.

“Hayre, load me up,” he said, much to the surprise of the boys, as they came to the creek’s edge.  His broad shoulders carried half of the load.  The blazed trail was only two hundred yards long, and in two trips the stuff was all dumped down in front of the teepee.

Sam noted with amusement the unexpected enthusiasm of his father.  “Say, Da, you’re just as bad as we are.  I believe you’d like to join us.”

“‘Moinds me o’ airly days here,” was the reply, with a wistful note in his voice.  “Many a night me an’ Caleb Clark slep’ out this way on this very crick when them fields was solid bush.  Do ye know how to make a bed?”

“Don’t know a thing,” and Sam winked at Yan.  “Show us.”

“I’ll show ye the rale thing.  Where’s the axe?”

“Haven’t any,” said Yan.  “There’s a big tomahawk and a little tomahawk.”

Raften grinned, took the big “tomahawk” and pointed to a small Balsam Fir.  “Now there’s a foine bed-tree.”

“Why, that’s a fire-tree, too,” said Yan, as with two mighty strokes Raften sent it toppling down, then rapidly trimmed it of its flat green boughs.  A few more strokes brought down a smooth young Ash and cut it into four pieces, two of them seven feet long and two of them five feet.  Next he cut a White Oak sapling and made four sharp pegs each two feet long.