CHAPTER XII. 



But, after a time, I lono-ed for some little, adventure. 

 The life I had been leading in the woods, although easy 

 and half indolent, in the main, had put vigor and health 

 in my blood and frame, and I fairly ached to " let myself 

 out," for once, before I should return to the work-a-day 

 life that awaited me outside of the wilderness. 



The opportunity came, one morning, when a tourist and 

 his guide started out upon the popular excursion to Martin's 

 by way of the Saranacs. They cheei-fully consented that 

 I should accompany them as far as I desired, to return 

 alone wiien I should choose. Selecting a light, trim, Adi- 

 rondack boat, when they set out I followed them, plying 

 the oars with an ease that surprised me. The flabbiness of 

 muscle belonging to the man of sedentary habits had given 

 place to sinewy strength. With swinging stroke we 

 crossed the lower St. Regis Lake, wound and twisted our 

 way through the inlet to Spitfire Pond, and so on to and 

 through Upper St. Regis, to the landing at the foot of the 

 carry to Big Clear Pond. The guide, as we went along, 

 pointed out various lau:l-marks by which I would be en- 

 abled, on my return, to find the streams connecting the dif- 

 ferent lakes,— particularly calling my attention to seven 

 dead pines near the outlet of Upper St. Regis. It would 



