The lean-to was not a very imposing structure—­Godfrey would much rather sit in the sun and smoke his pipe then expend any of his strength in providing for his comfort—­but it was large enough to shelter one man, and with a few more pieces of bark on the roof and a roaring fire in front, it might have been made a very pleasant and inviting camp.  Just now, however, it looked cheerless enough.  There was a little armful of leaves under the roof of the lean-to and there was a block of wood beside the fire-place, the position of which was pointed out by a bed of ashes and cinders.  The leaves served for a bed and the block of wood for a chair; and they were all the “furniture” that was to be seen about the camp.  But Godfrey was very well satisfied with his surroundings and Dan was delighted with them.  It must be splendid, he thought, to live there all by one’s self with nothing to worry over and no work to do.  It was not even necessary that Godfrey should chop wood for the fire, for the upper end of the island was covered with broken logs and branches, and five minutes’ work every morning would suffice to provide him with all the fuel he would be likely to burn during the day.

“What a nice place you’ve got here, pap!” said Dan, when he had taken a hurried survey of the camp.

“I reckon it’s about right,” replied Godfrey.  “I had this fur a hidin’ place while the Yanks was a scoutin’ about through the country, an’ I come here now kase nobody won’t think of lookin’ fur me so nigh the settlement.  An’ they won’t stumble onto me afore I know it, nuther.  They can’t git to me if they come afoot kase the bayou’ll stop ’em; an’ I never heard of nobody coming up here in a boat.  Nothing bothers me ‘ceptin’ a bar.  He comes over every night to feed on the beech-nuts an’ acorns, an’ some night he’ll come fur the last time.  I’ll jest knock him over, and then I’ll have meat enough to last me a month.  I build my fire and do my cookin’ at night, so’t nobody can’t see the smoke, an’ that’s what frightened the bar away afore I could shoot him.”

“I’ve a notion to come here an’ live with you, pap,” said Dan.

“‘Twon’t be safe,” replied his father, quickly.  “If you’re missin’ from home folks might begin to hunt fur us, an’ that’s somethin’ I don’t want ’em to do.  ‘Sides you must stay in the settlement an’ help me.  I shall need things from the store now an’ then, an’ as I can’t go and git ’em myself, you’ll have to git ’em fur me.  But what was you sayin’ about Dave?” asked Godfrey, throwing himself down on one of the piles of cane and motioning to Dan to occupy the block of wood.

“I was a sayin’ that he’s a little the meanest feller I ever seed,” replied Dan, “an’ don’t you say so too, pap?  Kase why, he’s goin’ to git fifty dollars fur them quail, an’ he’s goin’ to give the money all to the ole woman.”

“An’ leave me to freeze an’ starve out here in the cane?” exclaimed Godfrey, with a great show of indignation.  “Not by no means he won’t.  If he don’t mind what he’s about we’ll take the hul on it, Dan, me an’ you will.”