A Cruise on Lake Rossignol 



Spot, not wishing to be left out of anything, jumped 

 in as Ken turned to pick up the paddle. The momentum 

 of the dog's body shot the light craft out into the water, 

 and before anyone realized what happened, Spot was 

 headed for the other side of the lake with a fair wind. 

 I snapped a handy Kodak at the daring navigator. He 

 looked much interested and pleased over his achievement. 

 Ken went to the rescue. 



We have been eating moose meat every meal. 

 The Missus seems to hanker for pate de foies gras and 

 oysters. 



Fourth Day. 



The wind hauled around to the east during the night, 

 and a cold rain beat an insistent reveille on the old cabin 

 roof and windows. Ken and I donned oilskins and 

 sauntered down to the boat, thanking our stars that we 

 were so situated that we could spend the time during 

 such weather in a spacious cabin before a big open fire 

 rather than huddled in the gaseous cuddy of the motor- 

 boat. We opened up the engine-house, and found 

 everything snug and dry therein; tightened up a few nuts 

 and connections; gave the engine a whirl just to see if 

 her spark was all right; battened down, and returned to 

 the house, perfectly contented to leave the old dory 

 nodding to every new squall as it came along. 



After lunch we got sort of itchy for the smell of gasolene 

 and the wet woods, so, armed with rifles, compasses, and 

 a couple of sandwiches, we climbed aboard, cast off, and 

 bucked the sea and wind down into North-east Bay — 

 a distance of three miles. We landed in a fine moose 

 country. It was a good day for " creeping," as the 

 leaves were soft and wet, and the rain prevented our 

 scent from being carried afar. We travelled back a mile 



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