A LABRADOR SPRING 



As we passed Pashasheeboo Bay, a name 

 which Mathias delighted to roll on his tongue, we 

 saw a solitary house, a lobster fisherman's. 

 For a long distance we sailed among rocky 

 islands, and we passed a lovely protected har- 

 bour, forest skirted, which Mathias called le 

 hdvre des sauvages, for, he said, fourteen or 

 fifteen families of Indians camped there every 

 summer, and I admired their taste. 



Soon the scene changed, and we skirted at a 

 safe distance a ten mile, surf-lined beach, backed 

 by cliffs and a dark spruce forest. The Na- 

 besippi River flowed out in the middle of this 

 beach, and, at the eastern end, the Agwanus 

 River discharged. Here was a big church, a 

 bigger trading-house and a dozen or two small 

 houses of the habitants, all fishermen and trap- 

 pers. Hundreds of terns or sea swallows, as 

 they are called, graceful creatures, flew about 

 us screaming, and it was evident that they 

 were nesting on the barren islands. As the 

 breakers appeared to form a continuous white 

 line across the entrance to the harbour where 

 a few fishing boats were riding at anchor, we 

 concluded that the open sea was much pleas- 

 anter, and we pushed on in our staunch boat. 



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