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As usual at supper time the whole party
divided into smaller groups, each gathered
around its own fire. It was already dusk, but
not quite dark and the papoose had been
wrapped in a buffalo skin and put to sleep with
a comforter to suck. This consisted of a bit of
biscuit wrapped in a rag on which some fat was
smeared and a few grains of sugar sprinkled.
Not a tempting dainty, but the baby sucked it

‘greedily till it fell asleep.

Our friends had talked longer than usual
over their broiled salmon, but were at last ready
for the customary singing. The tailor had
begun in a cheerful tenor to sing the first verse
of his familiar solo:—

“John Nott he lived at Ludgate Hill,
"Twas there his trade began—
And as he kept a livery
Was thought a stable man—”

when at a slight pause they all distinctly heard
a new sound. It was faint, but regular, a liquid
dip-dip, dip-dip.

The song was suspended while they listened.
But as suddenly as it had fallen on their ears,
it ceased.

a nn nn EEEEnEE EERE

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