Mrs. Burton stayed with her small daughters to share the meal, and if she thought ruefully of the family over the river, who would have to cook their own supper, and also go without the fish which had been intended for them, she said nothing about it, One must always suffer something in the give-and-take of life, and there were plenty of canned goods at the store which might serve at a pinch.

“Now I must go,” she said, when the supper dishes had been washed.  “It is time that Beth and Lotta went to bed, while my father will be wearying for me if I am too long away.”

“Your father?” broke from Mary in surprise, then she stopped abruptly, realizing that her acquaintance with Mrs. Burton was too short for over-much curiosity.

“I am a widow,” the little woman answered, with the simple dignity which became her so well.  “I live with my father, or did; but now, strictly speaking, it is he, poor man, who lives with us, and Katherine earns the living for us all.”

“Katherine is your sister?” asked Mary, and now there was tender sympathy in her tone, and she was understanding why Mrs. Burton’s eyes were so sad.

“Katherine is my younger sister, and she is just wonderful,” the little woman said, with love and admiration thrilling her tones.  “She has done a man’s work all the winter, and she is keeping the business together as well as poor Father could have done.”

CHAPTER XIV

Would They Be Friends?

When Mrs. Burton had gone, Mary set to work to inspect the little loghouse, and make things comfortable for the night.  But there was not very much that needed doing, and their weeks of river travel had shorn away so many habits which are the outcome of too much civilization, that they had come down to a primitive simplicity of living.  The hut contained two small bedrooms, scarcely bigger than cabins on board ship, one sitting-room, and a lean-to kitchen in the rear.  There was not an atom of paint about the place; it was all bare, brown wood, restful to the eyes, and in perfect harmony with the surrounding wilderness.

The boatmen had pitched their tent at the down-river side of the house, and were sitting round a fire on the ground smoking their pipes in great comfort and content.  Mary had finished her survey of the inside of her new home, and now wandered outside the house to see what manner of country lay in the immediate neighbourhood of Roaring Water Portage.  Her father was sitting on a bench by the hut door, drowsily comfortable with a cigar, and busy with numberless plans for the future.  He was not in a mood for talking just then, and Mary was glad to be alone for a while.