A Tate of Gallantry and Hunger 



Upon my life 'tis true, sir. 



— TiMON OF Athens. 



It was a rainy, cold and disagreeable morning when 

 my son and myself left St. John, N. B., for Nictau 

 Lake. We had donned our heavy underwear when 

 we started — 6:25 a. m. — but when we reached Perth 

 Junction on the St. John Kiver at two o'clock the 

 sun came out and ran the thermometer up to 93° 

 in the shade. A return to light underwear became 

 necessary for our comfort and we looked about us for 

 some place, in or around the little station, where such 

 a change could be made with decency. We saw none. 

 However there was a forty-five-minute wait before 

 the train started on its way up the Tobique Yalley, 

 and I made use of the time in hunting up some spot 

 secluded enough to hide a bashful man from the 

 outside world while he changed his inside toggery. 

 Walking down the railroad track I came to a gorge 

 in a high hill and behind its shelter accomplished my 

 toilet, but not without some shivering; for, though 

 the thermometer stood, as I have said, at 93° in the 

 shade, the temperature in that gorge was very dif- 

 ferent. A chilling, goose-flesh wind scurried through 



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