A LABRADOR SPRING 



sweet-meats do the palate, and for the moment 

 renders all other bird music dull and uninterest- 

 ing by comparison." 



Another small stream, yet of considerable size, 

 was one whose distant roaring added to the 

 charms of the little protected harbour among 

 the Isles des Corneilles, where we had cast 

 anchor. This stream, this River of the Crow, 

 for such I suppose was its name, gave me but 

 a glimpse of its rushing, turbid waters as it 

 came pouring down through the spruce forest, 

 whose melting snows were silently adding to 

 its volume. From these dark and tangled 

 evergreen thickets not only here but also along 

 the whole coast, a wonderfully varied and de- 

 lightful bird-song would emerge at frequent 

 intervals and at all times of day. Like most 

 of the inhabitants of this coast the bird spoke 

 French, and, with great clearness and insistence, 

 it would frequently and repeatedly call tout 

 de suite. At least so it seemed to me, but per- 

 haps it was because of my recently acquired 

 sensitiveness to the French language, for in 

 Newfoundland and other English-speaking 

 countries I had never noticed this French 

 phrase. It would also say loudly and clearly 



248 



