"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. I will agree never to kill a caribou again if you will only furnish me with such sport as this from time to time."
"I was just thinking," she said, "that I am a law-breaker. I have no license to kill caribou."
"I have no doubt that you may be forgiven if you will send the money to St. John's and apply for a license. Then you can shoot two more, with an easy conscience."
"I will certainly send it," she replied, "but you ought to keep that head, you know."
"No indeed, it is yours, and you must take it back with you to be mounted. If I should ever return to New York I will ask you to allow me to have a look at it."
"I shall never forgive you if you don't call," she answered, charmingly. "But don't speak just now of going back to New York. I don't think I shall ever leave a place with such regret. I simply refuse to think of it."