“Well, un had a good wettin’ an’ a cold souse,” said he, as he piled the wood neatly behind the stove, addressing himself to Ed, who, now quite recovered from his chill, stood with his back to the stove, puffing contentedly at his pipe, with the steam pouring out of his wet clothes.

“‘Twere just a fine time wi’ th’ dip I had ten year ago th’ winter comin’,” said Ed, ruminatively. “’Twere nothin’ to that un.”

“An’ where were that?” asked Dick.

“I were out o’ tea in March, an’ handy to havin’ no tobaccy, an’ I says t’ myself, ‘Ed, ye can’t stay in th’ bush till th’ break up wi’ nary a bit o’ tea, and ye’d die wi’out tobaccy.  Now ye got t’ make th’ cruise t’ th’ Post.’  Well, I fixes up my traps, an’ packs grub for a week on my flat sled (toboggan) an’ off I goes.  ‘Twere fair goin’ wi’ good hard footin’ an’ I makes fine time.  Below th’ Gull Rapids, just above where I come ashore th’ day, I takes t’ th’ ice thinkin’ un good, an’ ‘twere lucky I has my racquets lashed on th’ flat sled an’ not walkin’ wi’ un, for I never could a swum wi’ un on.  Two fathoms from th’ shore I steps on bad ice an’ in I goes, head an’ all, an’ th’ current snatches me off’n my feet an’ carries me under th’ ice, an’ afore I knows un I finds th’ water carryin’ me along as fast as a deer when he gets th’ wind.”

“An’ how did un get out?” asked Bob in open-mouthed wonder.

“‘Twere sure a hard fix under th’ ice,” remarked Bill, equally interested.

“A wonderful hard fix, a wonderful hard fix, under th’ ice, an’ I were handy t’ stayin’ under un,” said Ed, taking evident delight in keeping his auditors in suspense.  “Aye, a wonderful hard fix,” continued he, while he hacked pieces from his tobacco plug and filled his pipe.

“An’ where were I?” asked Dick, making a quick calculation of past events.  “I were huntin’ wi’ un ten year ago, an’ I don’t mind ye’re gettin’ in th’ ice.”

“‘Twere th’ winter un were laid up wi’ th’ lame leg, an’ poor Frank Morgan were huntin’ along wi’ me.  Frank were lost th’ same spring in th’ Bay.  Does un mind that?”

“‘Twere only nine year ago I were laid up an’ Frank were huntin’ my trail,” said Dick.

“Well, maybe ’twere only nine year; ’twere nine or ten year ago,” Ed continued, with some show of impatience at Dick’s questioning.  “Leastways ‘twere thereabouts.  Well, I finds myself away off from th’ hole I’d dropped into, an’ no way o’ findin’ he.  The river were low an’ had settled a foot below th’ ice, which were four or five feet thick over my head, an’ no way o’ cuttin’ out.  So what does I do?”

“An’ what does un do?” asked Dick.

“What does I do?  I keeps shallow water near th’ shore an’ holdin’ my head betwixt ice an’ water makes down t’ th’ Porcupine Rapids.  ’Twere a long an’ wearisome pull, an’ thinks I, ’Tis too much—­un’s done for now.’  After a time I sees light an’ I goes for un.  ’Twere a place near a rock where th’ water swingin’ around had kept th’ ice thin.  I gets t’ un an’ makes a footin’ on th’ rock.  I gets out my knife an’ finds th’ ice breaks easy, an’ cuts a hole an’ crawls out.  By th’ time I gets on th’ ice I were pretty handy t’ givin’ up wi’ th’ cold.”