Weather and creaking joints permitting, Jim Hawkins could be found every weekend sitting in the rocker outside the Manix store, whittling and spitting. Jim said hardly anything. Ever. That's how Henry Lancaster felt. Sure, he'd hear his grandfather talk to his grandmother fairly often -- But Jim hardly said anything to anybody else. That all changed when he took Henry along on a scouting trip, and told his grandson how it was that winter of 1886 -- a really hard winter.