220 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY 



dered what could have brought this social and half- 

 domesticated bird so far into these wilds. In La 

 Grande Brulure, a hermit thrush perched upon a 

 dry tree in a swampy place and sang most divinely. 

 We paused to listen to his clear, silvery strain 

 poured out without stint upon that unlistening soli- 

 tude. I was half persuaded I had heard him before 

 on first entering the woods. 



We nooned again at No Man's Inn on the banks 

 of a trout lake, and fared well and had no reckoning 

 to pay. Late in the afternoon we saw a lonely pe- 

 destrian laboring up a hill far ahead of us. When 

 he heard us coming he leaned his back against the 

 bank, and was lighting his pipe as we passed. He 

 was an old man, an Irishman, and looked tired. 

 He had come from the farther end of the road, fifty 

 miles distant, and had thirty yet before him to reach 

 town. He looked the dismay he evidently felt 

 when, in answer to his inquiry, we told him it was 

 yet ten miles to the first house, La Chance's. But 

 there was a roof nearer than that, where he doubt- 

 less passed the night, for he did not claim hospital- 

 ity at the cabin of La Chance. We arrived there 

 betimes, but found the " spare bed " assigned to other 

 guests; so we were comfortably lodged upon the 

 haymow. One of the boys lighted us up with a 

 candle and made level places for us upon the hay. 



La Chance was one of the game wardens, or con- 

 stables appointed by the government to see the game 

 laws enforced. Joe had not felt entirely at his ease 

 about the duck he was surreptitiously taking to 



