"Yes," said father, "we shall have plenty of wood. See, this wood with
rough bark is maple. This, with smooth bark and lighter spots, is beech.
We will not use it in our fireplaces. It might snap sparks out on the
floor.
"And here is some beautiful white birch. This is for our fireplaces.
Here is yellow birch, too. Yes, there is plenty for next winter."
"If we were really Indians, we could make canoes out of the white birch
bark," said Polly.
"Isn't it nice here? The trees are thick all about us. How still it is!"
"It is still in the woods in winter," said father. "I always like it."
"I think it is too bad to cut the trees down, father. Will they grow
again?"
"See, Polly," said father. "We have cut down only the largest trees.
They were as large as they would ever be. Now the smaller ones will have
a better chance to grow.
"I would not cut them all down, unless I planted more. It would not be
good for my land to do that.
"This is the spot for our fire. Let us make it now."
He found a place, near a log, where the snow was not deep. He cleared
most of it away. There he built the fire. He used pieces of birch bark
instead of paper. Small twigs made very good kindling wood.
Peter and Polly pulled birch bark from the logs. They broke up the dry
twigs.
With his hatchet, father cut sticks of wood. He laid some of these on
the fire. He stuck his kettle irons down into the snow. They looked like
this:
[Illustration]
Then he lighted the fire.
He filled the coffeepot with snow. He hung it on the hook of the kettle
irons. It was quite near the blaze. When the snow had melted, more was
put in.
Father said, "It takes much snow to make a coffeepot full of water.
When the water boils, we will put in the bag of coffee."
Polly had taken out the camp dishes. She said, "We must have three
plates, three cups, three knives and forks and spoons. I will put them
on this log. I will put the bread and butter on the log, too."
Father had cut a straight stick. It looked like a cane. He took out the
frying pan.
"This stick is my handle," said he. "See where it fits in. Now I shall
not need to stand too near the fire. Frying would be hot work, if I had
not a long handle. Give me the bacon, Peter."
Soon the bacon was cooking nicely. How good it smelled! Then the eggs
were dropped into the pan.
When they were fried, father said, "Dinner is ready. Bring your cups.
You are to have a little coffee. It will be mostly milk."
This was a great treat. Peter and Polly did not drink coffee at home.
Then father gave them their bacon and eggs.
"Why," said father, "I forgot the sugar for our coffee."
"Mother did not," said Polly. "I saw her put it in, and here it is."
How good everything tasted! They sat on the log near the fire to eat. So
they were quite warm.
"This is the best dinner I ever had," said Polly. "Who taught you to
cook, father? I forgot all about playing Indians, I have been so busy."
When dinner was over, father picked up the dishes. He wiped them with
paper napkins. He put them into their case. Mother would wash them at
home.
The fire burned low. He threw some snow on it. This made it safe to
leave.
"Now I will show you some tracks," said he. "They were made by the
white-footed mouse. See how small they are. That line in the snow is
where he dragged his tail.
"He must have gone up into this tree. But I cannot see him anywhere.
Perhaps he lives in that old nest up there. He may have watched us eat
our dinner."
"Good-by, Mr. White-foot," called Polly. "We are sorry not to see you.
We are going home now."
Down the hill through the quiet woods they went. Polly had the big
knapsack over her shoulder. It was quite empty now, and not at all
heavy. Peter ran ahead.
At the door, Polly said, "Thank you, father, for our good time. It is
the best picnic that I ever had."