THE LAKE TROUT. 257 



inhospitable, and everywhere the dashing surf beat itself out 

 in long lines of snowy rage. Yet, even as we were ready 

 to question the knowledge and the honesty of our dusky pilot, 

 and trembled before a seeming danger, his course was justi- 

 fied, and there opened before us a narrow passage between 

 two points of rock, beyond which lay a calm expanse of 

 water, on which a navy might have ridden securely. Meantime 

 our anglers had not been idle, but as we neared the land, had 

 been guarding the trolling line, to try their luck with "lakers." 

 Just as we made fast to our "wharfing privilege" — the virgin 

 shore on one side the yacht, and four fathoms of water on 

 the other — preparatory to that prosaic but very necessary con- 

 clusion of a day's labors, the supper, the last man at the line 

 brought in a two-pound Brook Trout, a vara avis, indeed. 

 We fell to wondering whether this was to be the custom of 

 the land, but it was so unusual as to be unique; we caught 

 no more of that kind of Trout in that kind of way. 



But we did have some royal sport with the "lakers." Our 

 captain, even, was roused from his daily "bath," and dreams 

 of "magnificent runs" for our trim little craft; and, sallying 

 forth amid the dews of the early morning, with "Louis" to 

 paddle his canoe (or mine, for my birch-bark was common 

 property through all our cruise), came home with a job-lot of 

 fish, the biggest of which was "way up" — a good, clean "high 

 hook," with 13I pounds of "too, too solid flesh" to his credit. 

 I, fortunately, was not far behind; "fortunately," I say, for 

 thus the unkind and unhandsome feelings of envy or of jeal- 

 ousy were not aroused. It was a pleasure so Protean in form 

 that no one joy eclipsed the others, to ride in the tiny birchen 

 shell, that responded as surely to the lightest touch of Louis' 

 deftly handled blade, as the clean-cut racer of the ocean to 

 the pilot's will. In the early morning sunlight the blue 

 waters reflected the clearer blue above, as they quivered 

 beneath the kiss of the wooing breeze, and the frail craft 

 traced its dainty way in and out among a thousand rock- 



