Arrived at the cabin, MacDonald picked up his bedding and muttered, “Perhaps we had better go across to the post, we won’t be able to sleep here for mosquitoes.” He did not expect Pierre to have faith in his pretext; neither did he expect to be openly flouted by his meek companion. But Pierre, looking him up and down, asked drily, “Afraid of Simon’s ghost?” “Afraid of nothing!” thundered MacDonald, hurling his blankets on the floor and glowering at his mate. He began to pace the room with giant strides. There was no doubt of it, he was troubled. He would not play cribbage. He was too tired, he said. MacDonald, who had never been tired before! So, soon both men sprawled out on the floor covered with their four-point blankets. But neither fell asleep.