NOVEMBER JOE
knew him, his personality had impressed itself upon me by reason of a certain adequate quietness with which he fulfilled the duties, many and disagreeable, which bearded old Tom Todd took a delight in laying upon his young shoulders.
I remembered, too, the expression of humour and mocking tolerance which used to invade the boy's face whenever old Tom was overtaken by one of his habitual fits of talking big. Once when Tom spoke by the camp-fire of some lake to which he desired to guide me, and of which he stated that the shores had never been trodden by white man's foot, Joe had to cover his mouth with his hand. When we were alone, Todd having departed to make some necessary repairs to the canoe, I asked Joe what he meant by laughing at his elders.
"I suppose a boy's foot ain't a man's anyways," remarked Joe innocently, and more he would not say.
In fact, it was with such memories as these that I amused myself as I tramped forward over the rough paths.
And now Joe was grown up into a man who had been heard of, not only
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