the harmony; left not so much 

 trace as a cow moose trotting along 

 a game trail and stopping at the 

 ribbon of water for a morning drink. 

 We crossed the tracks, clearly seen 

 on the sandy bottom, and so fresh 

 that the water had not obliterated 

 them. Just a gracious bowing of 

 the water grass, as we slipped over it, 

 a soft swish as it rose and the scene 

 was as before our passing. On the 

 banks, often within arm's reach on 

 either side, hung ripe sarvis berries 

 and brilliant yew and holly still 

 glistening with frosty dew. All was 

 softness, brilliancy, mystery, peace; 

 I could have laid my cheek on the 

 bosom of that morning scene and 

 been lulled forever in a sweet con- 

 tent, so beautiful was it, so inde- 

 scribably satisfying. Only in a canoe 

 could it be possible to thus approach 

 and move in nature. 



The sun rose to the eight o'clock 

 position and the mood changed. 

 Quiet yet but no longer hushed 

 or reverent, we debarked to 

 avoid some rapids that emptied 

 into Next Lake. Once more in the 

 canoe, the Indians at bow and stern, 



