Metoosin had taken up lynx and marten and mink that would sell the next year in London and Paris for a thousand dollars, and he had brought back a few small cans of vegetables at fifty cents a can, a little flour at forty cents a pound, a bit of cheap cloth at the price of rare silk, some tobacco and a pittance of tea, and he was happy.

A half season's work on the trap-line and his family could have eaten it all in a week--if they had dared to eat as much as they needed.
"And still they're always in the debt of the Posts," the Missioner said, the lines settling deeply on his face.
And yet David could not but feel more and more deeply the thrill, the fascination, and, in spite of its hardships, the recompense of this life of which he had become a part.

For the first time in his life he clearly perceived the primal measurements of riches, of contentment and of ambition, and these three things that he saw stripped naked for his eyes many other things which he had not understood, or in blindness had failed to see, in the life from which he had come.

Metoosin, with that little treasure of food from the Post, did not know that he was poor, or that through many long years he had been slowly starving.

He was rich! He was a great trapper! And his Cree wife I-owa, with her long, sleek braid and her great, dark eyes, was tremendously proud of her lord, that he should bring home for her and the children such a wealth of things--a little flour, a few cans of things, a few yards of cloth, and a little bright ribbon.