50 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



I found Mr. Wardle, a stalwart Anglo-Saxon, in 

 his shirt -sleeves, proprietor and manager of the 

 large store which supplies the inhabitants of a 

 hundred miles of mountain and forest with all 

 they want, from photographs to flour. 



The canoe ground against the shingle ; we 

 stepped out into the middle of the grand 

 promenade of Hope, dropped our bundles in 

 front of W.'s store, said ' how do ye do ' to the 

 crowd of seven collected to meet us, and were at 

 once in the heart of Hope society and fashion. 

 In another ten minutes my guide arrived, a tall, 

 gaunt, white man of many summers, named S., 

 together with his half-breed son, my future cook. 

 Long practice in camping - out expedited our 

 arrangements considerably, and by nightfall 

 stores were bought, horses secured, wages con- 

 tracted for, and even some of our bales packed. 

 ' Start to-morrow at ten sharp,' were the last 

 words at parting that night ; and in spite of the 

 nods and winks of his neighbours, jealous at S.'s 

 luck in getting the job, the old man was not 

 drunk next day, his horses were not missing, and 

 we were only two hours late in starting. If you 

 want things done promptly on the march, you 

 must not loaf yourself, but bear a hand and urge 

 on all preparations to the very last in person. 

 See everything ( fixed,' and then no last glasses ! 



