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 out. If your city friends was so mighty nice to you why did you quit ’em? Why didn’t you git one of them to find you a job?”

Stanley’s face drew down piteously and his lips trembled as he struggled to frame some reply. In a second warm-hearted Bub had seized his hand and was crying, “I’m a brute, Stan. Just kindly give me a few kicks. But you riled me by knocking the wood-folks. We ain’t got time for sentiment. It don’t mean we don’t feel it, but it doesn’t fit in with the rough life of the woods. Say you forgive me; for I’m mighty glad no one got you a job in the city and kept you from coming up here.”

“It’s all right, Bub,” said Stanley, winking his eyes rapidly. “It hurt because there’s lots of truth in it. I had to come up here to get a chance.”

“Now, here’s the spruce and here’s the trail,” cried Bub, wishing to divert Stanley’s moody thoughts.

“Trail?” blankly repeated Stanley, staring about. “I don’t even see a path.”

Bub’s fresh laughter rang out loudly, causing two gossiping crows on a dead pine to scold furiously. “Why, you poor innocent! Did you expect to find a road? There’s a trail dead ahead.”