277, 



rutty corduroy road, that one can 

 never form the habit. Like Cod 

 Liver Oil, each acquaintance with 

 it means a fresh victory. 



Fifteen miles in five hours would 

 hardly win the Vanderbilt Cup, but 

 when Crosby's Lake, our lunching 

 place, shimmered through the trees 

 we were as thankful as though its 

 silver were the hard earned bauble 

 itself, and we the owners. 



At luncheon Bobbie, perched pre- 

 cariously on a boulder, held forth on 

 the merits of canoes over horses as 

 a means of locomotion. It sounded 

 attractive and proved to be all 

 quite true long hours of gently 

 gliding through placid waters, fish 

 darting beneath, ready to furnish hy- 

 gienic meals, beautiful arboreal shores 

 in view, now far, now near, flower- 

 strewn portage trails, with an occa- 

 sional game animal staring at us 

 through the trees. Likewise the 

 greater carrying power of a canoe 

 over a horse and consequent addi- 

 tional comforts about which there 

 is more to be said later. 



But Bobbie gave only one side of 

 the picture. He neglected to state 



