Bill the Guide would go off to the lumber camps beyond the Ottanoonsis, and Silverwater would be left to the snow and the solitude of winter.

His heart tightened with homesickness.

Yet, after all, he reflected, during the months of cold his beloved Silverwater would be none too friendly a place, especially to such of the little furred and feathered folk as were bold enough to linger about its shores.

He shivered as he thought of the difference winter must make to all the children of the wild.
"Why so solemn all of a sudden ?" asked Uncle Andy, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I thought a minute ago you'd take the whole roof off the forest an' scare the old bull moose across the lake into shedding his new antlers." "I was just thinking," answered the Child.
"And does it hurt ?" inquired Uncle Andy politely.
But, young as he was, the Child had learned to ignore sarcasm--especially Uncle Andy's, which he seldom understood.
"I was just wondering," he replied, shaking his head thoughtfully, "what the young ones of all the wild creatures would do in the winter to keep warm.