Paul and queer, long Jim Hart spent a week together on the island, and they were pleasant days to the boy.  He was sure that Henry, Ross, and Sol could take care of themselves, and he felt little anxiety about them.  He and Hart stayed well in the woods in the day, and they fished and hunted at night.  Hart killed another deer, this time swimming in the water, but they easily made salvage of the body and took it to land.  They also shot a bear in the edge of the woods, near the south end of the lake, and Hart quickly tanned both deerskins and the bearskin in a rude fashion.  He said they would need them as covers at night, and as the weather turned a little colder, Paul found that he could use one of the skins quite comfortably.

They built of sticks and brushwood a crude sort of lean-to against one of the stony sides that enclosed the cove, and when a rain came they were able to keep quite dry within its shelter.  They also found rabbits on the island, some of which they killed, and thus added further to their larder.  These labors of house-building and housekeeping kept them busy, and Paul was surprised to find how well content he had become.  Hart did all the cooking, but Paul made amends in other directions, and at night, when they were not fishing or hunting, they would sit by the little fire and talk.  Once about the noon hour they saw a smoke far to the south, and both regarded it speculatively.

“Think likely it’s an Injun huntin’ party,” said Jim Hart, “an’ they don’t dream o’ any white men bein’ about.  That’s why they are so careless about their fire, because the different tribes o’ these parts are all at peace with one another.”

“How far away would you say that smoke is?” asked Paul.

“Three or four miles, anyway, an’ I’m pow’ful glad this is a haunted islan’, so they won’t come over here.”

“So am I,” said Paul devoutly.

He lay on his back on the soft turf, and watched the smoke rising away in a thin spire into the heavens.  He could picture to himself the savage party as it sat about the fire, and it gave him a remarkable feeling of comfort and safety to know that he was so well protected by the ghosts that haunted the little island.

The smoke rose there all the morning, but Paul ceased by and by to pay any attention to it, although he and Jim Hart kept well within the cove, busying themselves with additions to their lean-to.  Paul had found great strips of bark shed by the trees, and he used these to patch the roof.  More pieces were used for the floor, and, with the bearskin spread over them, it was quite dry and snug.  Then he stood off and regarded it with a critical and approving eye.

“You haven’t seen a better house than that lately, have you, Jim?” he said, in a tone of pride.

“Considerin’ the fact that I ain’t seen any other uv any kind in a long time, I kin truthfully say I haven’t,” replied Jim Hart sardonically.