A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 185 



left their water roost on a forage for breakfast ; while 

 the cry of a loon, flying over Nictau Lake, and miles 

 away, could be heard hailing the coming of the morn 

 with its unearthly notes : " Ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha ! " 



My dead-water vigil was over. The sun peeped 

 above the ridge-tops and saucily threw his glances 

 across my bed of boughs. Hiding my face from his 

 gaze, I lay me down to sleep and dream and treat my 

 slumbering eyeballs to a scene that in their wakeful 

 moments was denied them : " A bull-moose at his 

 breakfast table." 



