ii8 CANADIAN NIGHTS 



were moose in the neighbourhood. We had cut 

 a great store of firewood, gathered bushels of 

 cranberries, dug a well in the swamp close by, 

 and attended to the thousand and one little 

 comforts that experience teaches one to provide 

 in the woods, and had absolutely nothing to do. 

 The day was intensely hot and sultry, and if any 

 one had approached the camp about noon he 

 would have deemed it deserted. All hands had 

 hung their blankets over the tents by way of pro- 

 tection from the sun, and had gone to sleep. 

 About one o'clock I awoke, and sauntered out of 

 the tent to stretch my limbs and take a look at 

 the sky. I was particularly anxious about the 

 weather, for I was tired of idleness, and had de- 

 termined to go out if the evening offered a tolerably 

 fair promise of a fair night. To get a better view 

 of the heavens I climbed to my accustomed look- 

 out in a comfortable fork near the summit of a 

 neighbouring pine, and noted with disgust certain 

 little black shreds of cloud rising slowly above 

 the horizon. To aid my indecision I consulted 

 my dear old friend John Williams, the Indian, 

 who after the manner of his kind stoutly refused 

 to give any definite opinion on the subject. All 

 that I could get out of him was, " Well, dunno ; 



