

THE HALCYON IN CANADA 217 



and before morning had Joe's blanket about him in 

 addition to his own. 



On Friday we made an excursion to Great Lake 

 Jacques Cartier, paddling and poling up the river 

 in the rude box-boat. It was a bright, still morn- 

 ing after the rain, and everything had a new, fresh 

 appearance. Expectation was ever on tiptoe as each 

 turn in the river opened a new prospect before us. 

 How wild, and shaggy, and silent it was! What 

 fascinating pools, what tempting stretches of trout- 

 haunted water ! Now and then we would catch a 

 glimpse of long black shadows starting away from 

 the boat and shooting through the sunlit depths. 

 But no sound or motion on shore was heard or seen. 

 Near the lake we came to a long, shallow rapid, 

 when we pulled off our shoes and stockings, and, with 

 our trousers rolled above our knees, towed the boat 

 up it, wincing and cringing amid the sharp, slippery 

 stones. With benumbed feet and legs we reached 

 the still water that forms the stem of the lake, and 

 presently saw the arms of the wilderness open and the 

 long deep blue expanse in their embrace. We rested 

 and bathed, and gladdened our eyes with the singu- 

 larly beautiful prospect. The shadows of summer 

 clouds were slowly creeping up and down the sides 

 of the mountains that hemmed it in. On the far 

 eastern shore, near the head, banks of what was 

 doubtless white sand shone dimly in the sun, and 

 the illusion that there was a town nestled there 

 haunted my mind constantly. It was like a section 

 of the Hudson below the Highlands, except that 



