Nearly the whole afternoon they sat around the table while Bob told
the story of his adventures. A comparison of experiences made it
quite certain that the remains they had supposed to have been Bob's
were the remains of Micmac John and the mystery of the half-breed's
failure to return to the tilt for the pelts he had stolen was
therefore cleared up.
"An' th' Nascaupees," said Bob, "be not fearsome murderous folk as we
was thinkin' un, but like other folks, an' un took rare fine care o'
me. I'm thinkin' they'd not be hurtin' white folks an' white folk
don't hurt _they_."
Finally the men sat back from the table for a smoke and chat while the
dishes were being cleared away by Mrs. Gray and Bessie.
"Now I were sure thinkin' Bob were a ghost," said Ed, as he lighted
his pipe with a brand from the stove, "and 'twere scarin' me a bit. I
never seen but one ghost in my life and that were----"
"We're not wantin' t' hear that ghost yarn, Ed," broke in Dick, and Ed
forgot his story in the good-natured laughter that followed.
The home-coming was all that Bob had hoped and desired it to be and
the arrival of his three friends from the trail made it complete. His
heart was full that evening when he stepped out of doors to watch the
setting sun.
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