"You mean the storm, and the snow----"

"Yes; storm, and snow, and sunshine, and forests--the tens of thousands
of miles of our Northland that you've seen only the edges of. That's
what I mean. But, first of all"--and again the Little Missioner rubbed
his hands--"first of all, I'm thinking of the supper that's waiting for
us at Thoreau's. Will you get off and have supper with me at the
Frenchman's, David? After that, if you decide not to go up to God's Lake
with me, Thoreau can bring you and your luggage back to the station with
his dog team. Such a supper--or breakfast--it will be! I can smell it
now, for I know Thoreau--his fish, his birds, the tenderest steaks in
the forests! I can hear Thoreau cursing because the train hasn't come,
and I'll wager he's got fish and caribou tenderloin and partridges just
ready for a final turn in the roaster. What do you say? Will you get off
with me?"

"It is a tempting offer to a hungry man, Father."

The Little Missioner chuckled elatedly.

"Hunger!--that's the real medicine of the gods, David, when the belt
isn't drawn too tight. If I want to know the nature and quality of a man
I ask about his stomach. Did you ever know a man who loved to eat who
wasn't of a pretty decent sort? Did you ever know of a man who loved
pie--who'd go out of his way to get pie--that didn't have a heart in him
bigger than a pumpkin? I guess you didn't. If a man's got a good stomach
he isn't a grouch, and he won't stick a knife into your back; but if he
eats from habit--or necessity--he isn't a beautiful character in the
eyes of nature, and there's pretty sure to be a cog loose somewhere in
his makeup. I'm a grub-scientist, David. I warn you of that before we