They all climbed the sandy slope, and found themselves on the summit of an oval island, with a pretty glade in the middle surrounded by birches.  Bill, the second raftsman, a stolid, silent man, at once swung his axe upon a log of driftwood.  Mr. Wells and Jim walked to and fro under the birches, and Kate and Nell sat on the grass watching with great interest the old helmsman as he came up from the river, his brown hands and face shining from the scrubbing he had given them.  Soon he had a fire cheerfully blazing, and after laying out the few utensils, he addressed himself to Joe: 

“I’ll tell ye right here, lad, good venison kin be spoiled by bad cuttin’ and cookin’.  You’re slicin’ it too thick.  See—­thar!  Now salt good, an’ keep outen the flame; on the red coals is best.”

With a sharpened stick Jeff held the thin slices over the fire for a few moments.  Then he laid them aside on some clean white-oak chips Bill’s axe had provided.  The simple meal of meat, bread, and afterward a drink of the cold spring water, was keenly relished by the hungry voyagers.  When it had been eaten, Jeff threw a log on the fire and remarked: 

“Seein’ as how we won’t be in redskin territory fer awhile yit, we kin hev a fire.  I’ll allow ye’ll all be chilly and damp from river-mist afore long, so toast yerselves good.”

“How far have we come to-day?” inquired Mr. Wells, his mind always intent on reaching the scene of his cherished undertaking.

“’Bout thirty-odd mile, I reckon.  Not much on a trip, thet’s sartin, but we’ll pick up termorrer.  We’ve some quicker water, an’ the rafts hev to go separate.”

“How quiet!” exclaimed Kate, suddenly breaking the silence that followed the frontiersman’s answer.

“Beautiful!” impetuously said Nell, looking up at Joe.  A quick flash from his gray eyes answered her; he did not speak; indeed he had said little to her since the start, but his glance showed her how glad he was that she felt the sweetness and content of this wild land.

“I was never in a wilderness before,” broke in the earnest voice of the young minister.  “I feel an almost overpowering sense of loneliness.  I want to get near to you all; I feel lost.  Yet it is grand, sublime!”

“Here is the promised land—­the fruitful life—­Nature as it was created by God,” replied the old minister, impressively.

“Tell us a story,” said Nell to the old frontiersman, as he once more joined the circle round the fire.

“So, little ’un, ye want a story?” queried Jeff, taking up a live coal and placing it in the bowl of his pipe.  He took off his coon-skin cap and carefully laid it aside.  His weather-beaten face beamed in answer to the girl’s request.  He drew a long and audible pull at his black pipe, and send forth slowly a cloud of white smoke.  Deliberately poking the fire with a stick, as if stirring into life dead embers of the past, he sucked again at his pipe, and emitted a great puff of smoke that completely enveloped the grizzled head.  From out that white cloud came his drawling voice.