was used to hardship, he sickened with influenza, perhaps in
consequence of digging in heavy rain and sleeping in wet clothes. As
he was nothing of a valetudinarian he made light of the attack, but did
not get better as soon as he expected on his return, and went to see
the Toronto doctor, when Foster urged him.

The latter lighted his pipe and looked about the room. It was warm and
well lighted, and the furniture, which was plain but good, had been
bought, piece by piece, to replace ruder articles they had made at the
mill. One or two handsome skins lay upon the uncovered floor, and the
walls were made of varnished cedar boards. A gun-rack occupied a
corner, and the books on a shelf indicated that their owners had some
literary taste, though there were works on mining and forestry. Above
the shelf, the huge head of a moose, shot on a prospecting Journey to
the North, hung between the smaller heads of bear and caribou.

Foster, who had hitherto lived in tents and shacks, remembered his
misgivings when they built the house. Indeed, he had grumbled that it
might prove a dangerous locking up of capital that was needed for the
enlargement of the mill. Featherstone, however, insisted, and since
most of the money was his, Foster gave in; but they had prospered since
then. They were good friends, and had learned to allow for each
other's point of view during several years of strenuous toil and stern
economy. Still, Foster admitted that their success was not altogether
due to their own efforts, because once or twice, when they had to face
a financial crisis, the situation was saved by a check Featherstone got
from home. By and by the latter turned to his comrade.

"Your letter was from Hulton, wasn't it? What does he want?"