ever seen and helped us forget the sizzling of the rain 

 drops on the hot coals. Otherwise it would have been 

 a dreary afternoon. The dripping canvas when we 

 went to bed that night did not promise anything much 

 better for the morrow. 



But it was better. The morning brought a perfect 

 day, clear as a bell and not a ripple on the surface of the 

 whole lake. We could hardly wait till we had swal- 

 lowed our 1 hurried breakfast to scramble into our 

 canoes and head eagerly for the open lake. The home- 

 steaders chattered peevishly as we made our way 

 among the islands and the fish jumped invitingly, but 

 we heeded neither the one nor the other; we were go- 

 ing somewhere. At last we glided around a point 

 into the open water. Involuntarily we all stopped 

 paddling and sat in mute admiration. 



One of the most beautiful lakes in the world lay 

 drowsing before us in the sunlight. So clear was the 

 air and so still the water that the reflections were per- 

 fect and the rocky, tree clad islands seemed to be float- 

 ing high above the surface. The open water seemed 

 like the body of an enormous spider, with its legs 

 stretching far out in all directions, long narrow bays 

 flecked with islands. Everywhere we looked another 

 enchanting vista opened up before us, beckoning us 

 on. We knew that one of those long tempting chan- 

 nels lead far north into Canada, to Northern Lights 

 lake, the Lake of the Woods and the open route to 

 Hudson's Bay. Many a voyaguer and many an Indian 

 had paddled out of that fabled land bringing his furs 

 to Port Arthur. The famous Hunter's Island country 



22 



