The Uninvited Guest 



FOR some years past — in fact, ever since I built my 

 first little combination boat-house and camp on 

 Lake Rossignol — I have guided and " hosted " a 

 great variety of human beings for pleasure and profit. 

 Incidentally the profit was mostly in the pleasure. Not 

 being nearly so close a student of human nature as of 

 Dame Nature, it is seldom that either the character 

 or appearance of a transient guest is lastingly impressed 

 upon my memory. Occasionally a visitor of especially 

 charming personality presents himself and is remembered. 

 He is perhaps unconsciously blessed for his easygoing 

 and good disposition. Occasionally, also, a peculiarly 

 disagreeable, prying, fussy " sport " is misdirected into 

 our neck of the woods. If he is trying enough he is 

 remembered a long, long time. Such a man was Tug 

 Williams. 



The history of Tug's moose-hunt might not be un- 

 profitable as a horrible example to the young and aspiring 

 hunter of what not to do or say in the woods. 



To begin at the beginning: 



I was sitting in my office in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia, 

 one fall morning when the telephone announced that a 

 friend from Halifax had just arrived at the station with 

 his gun, woods luggage, and the intention of going 

 moose-hunting with me. Although I had already been 

 hunting once that season and it was late in October, 

 I welcomed the opportunity of making a good excuse 

 to go again, so told him to come right up to the office 



105 



