"I think so myself. But we have to make a living, don't we?"

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself sometimes, Pete?"

"For making traps, and catching live things in them?"

"Yes. It's a sort of deceitful cruelty, catching the little blind,
wandering wild things."

"Blind?" he repeated blankly, then flushed.

"Yes, blind. But it wasn't only that I meant."

"What else ought I to be ashamed of?"

"Of living on your brother." He winced sharply, but she went on
coolly: "Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now.
Many a boy of your age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the
world to make his own way. There's no reason for _you_ to hide, is
there? _You_ haven't sacrificed your life for anyone."

"No," he answered doubtfully, "n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one
has to take the skins. It isn't safe for Hugh."

"Yes, of course. So that's what you'll do all your life--carry loads
to and fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh
goes away himself?"

"Yes?" he asked breathlessly.