CHAPTER V.
BIRCH BARK MERCHANTS Away over on Katson's Hill six high school boys, stripped to their undershirts and trousers, were toiling hard, drenched in perspiration and with hands considerably the worse for their hard work.
"What we're finding out is that it's one thing to strip bark for fun, and quite another thing to take it off in pieces large enough for a boat-builder," Dick Prescott declared.
"It isn't as fast work as I thought it would be, either," Dave Darrin declared, running his knife slowly down the trunk of a young birch.
"What we need is to bring a grindstone along with us," Tom Reade grunted, as he examined the edge of the largest blade in his jackknife.
"I simply can't cut with this knife any more." "I couldn't cut with a fine razor," declared Greg Holmes.

"Look at the blisters on my hands from the cutting I've already done." "Never mind your aches and pains," comforted Dave Darrin.

"We're doing this to pay charges on our canoe, and Hiram Driggs has been mighty kind about the whole business.

Think of the fun we're going to have when that canoe is launched; Now, fellows, Hiram Driggs has been mighty good to us, so I want to propose a plan for your approval.

Whenever Driggs tells us that we've cut and hauled enough birch bark to pay him, then we must come out here and get still a few more loads, to pay him in good measure and show that we appreciate his kindness.