250 CANADIAN NIGHTS 



man in the the stern of each. Civilisation, with all 

 its worries, anxieties, disappointments, heat, dust, 

 restraint, luxury, and discomfort, is left behind ; 

 before us are the grand old woods, the open 

 barrens, stream, lake, and river — perfect freedom, 

 lovely cool autumnal weather, three weeks' pro- 

 visions, plenty of ammunition, the forest and the 

 stream to supply food, and the fishing-rod and 

 rifle with which to procure it. 



Down we go, very slowly and carefully, wading 

 half the time, lifting stones out of the way, 

 tenderly lifting the canoes over shallows, for 

 the stream scarcely trickles over its pebbly bed. 

 After a while the water deepens and becomes 

 still. We take to the paddles and make rapid 

 progress. 



" Guess there's a dam pretty handy," says John, 

 and so it turns out to be, for after a mile of dead 

 water we are brought up by a beaver- dam, showing 

 an almost dry river-bed below it. Canoes are 

 drawn up and the dam is demolished in a few 

 minutes, giving a couple of nights' hard labour 

 to the industrious families whose houses we had 

 passed a little way above the dam. Then we have 

 to wait for half an hour to give the water a start 

 of us, and then off again, poling, wading, paddling 



