a hospitality that not only revived the memories of
his childhood, but created a new kind of joy in
the hearts of his guests. Hence the bungalow--hence
Jackson--hence the lockers and the ice-chest, and
hence the bed quilt of mint.

"This is your room, Muggles--and, Bender, old
man, yours is next Podvine, you are across the
hall," was his welcome. "Breakfast is any time you
want it; dinner at six. Now come here! See that
line of lockers and that ice-chest? Don't forget 'em,
please! Step up, Jackson--take a look at him, boys.
That darky can mix anything known to man. He
never sleeps, and he's never tired. If you don't call
on him for every blessed thing you want day or night,
there'll be trouble."

They fished and canoed; they hunted bears--a fact
known to the bear, who kept out of their way--never
was in it, Bender insisted; they went overboard every
morning, one after another, in the almost ice-cold
water of the lake, out again red as lobsters, back on a
run, whooping with the cold to the blazing fire of
the bungalow which Jackson had replenished with
bundles of dried balsam that cracked and snapped
with a roar while it toasted the bare backs and
scorched the bare legs of each one in turn (the balsam
was gathered the year before for this very purpose).
They roamed the woods, getting a crack once in a
while at a partridge or a squirrel; they strolled about