H2 My Dogs in the Northland 



a style tumbling down on the other side. 

 Fortunately we did not fall in the open 

 water-hole, but struck finely the beaten 

 trail that led up in the forest to the wig- 

 wams of the Indians. Over it the dogs 

 fairly flew. Soon we knew we were being 

 pulled up the steep side of a bluff and in a 

 few minutes more as we were being hurled 

 along the smooth but crooked trail, we saw 

 the welcome sparks flying out of the top of 

 the birch-bark wigwams. A blessed sight 

 indeed was this, for we were safe at last; 

 and can any one blame me if, after our 

 notes of thanksgiving to a kind Providence, 

 we shouted out: 



"Well done, Jack!" 



