I was obliged to reject the naïve proposal from Jack, that we should tether a shoal of salmon by the gills to the bottom of the bay as we had secured the turtles.
Many quiet uneventful days passed by, and I perceived that the boys, wearied by the routine of farm work at Rockburg, were longing for a cruise in the yacht or an expedition into the woods, which would refresh both mind and body.
“Father,” said Fritz at length, “we want a quantity of hurdles, and have scarcely any more bamboos of which to make them. Had we not better get a supply from Woodlands? And you said, too, the other day, that you wished you had some more of the fine clay: we might visit the Gap at the same time.”
I had really no objection to propose; and it was shortly afterwards settled that Fritz, Jack, and Franz should start together; and that Ernest, who had no great desire to accompany his brothers, should remain with his mother and me, and assist in the construction of a sugar-mill, the erection of which I had long contemplated.
Before they started, Fritz begged some bear's meat from the mother, to make pemmican.
“And what may pemmican be?” she asked.
“It is food carried by the fur-traders of North America on their long journeys through the wild country they traverse; and consists of bear or deer's flesh, first cooked and then pounded or ground to powder. It is very portable, and nourishing.”
His mother consented “to humour him,” as she said, although without much faith in the value of the preparation; and in the course of two days a stock of pemmican, sufficient for a Polar expedition, was fabricated by our enthusiastic son.
They were ready to start, when I observed Jack quietly slip a basket, containing several pigeons, under the packages in the cart.
“Oh, oh!” thought I, “the little fellow has his doubts about that pemmican, and thinks a tough old pigeon would be preferable.”
