THE LOWER ST. LAWRENCE. 163 



" Me tink about four mile mebby." 



" Comme longtenips pensez vous, a faire le voyage ?" 



"Comment?" 



" No comprenez ? " 



"Non, Monsieur." 



"Pshaw! these Frenchmen can't speak their own lan- 

 guage. You see they only speak a sort of patois. Let me 

 see: Combien de temps that's it how long a faire le 

 voyage ? How much time go up eh ?" 



" Oh, two hour, I suppose." 



" Ah well, then we shall have time to stop and catch a few 

 fish for supper. This looks like a good place. I say, Pierre, 

 bon place a peche, ici ? a prendre poisson ? " 



" Oui poisson good place catch fish." 



"Then let's hold on Arret la! voila le roche 1'autre 

 cote there tenez." 



Pierre holds the canoe in mid-stream and we cast our flies 

 in the eddies and around the rocks with gratifying results. 

 The fish are voracious and bite freely. Soon we have a 

 dozen. Then the biting begins to slacken, and it is evident 

 the fish have been all taken, or have become wary. 



"Pierre! eh bien! montez no go down stream go 

 confound it comment 1'appelez descended 



" Oui, Monsieur all right." 



" Look out there prenez garde ! plague take it sacre 

 you've crossed my line. I say, Pierre, clear that line, will 

 you ? tirez-vous mon ligne, s'il vous plait there bon. 

 We'll try it here awhile." 



The Jacques Cartier is not a very violent stream, though 

 it is broken by frequent rough water and an occasional 

 strong rapid ; and sometimes it widens into little bays where 

 there are good pools. By the time we reach the camp it is 

 near sunset, and our string of trout has increased to several 

 dozen. Here there is a winter shanty made of birch bark, 

 which has been occupied by beaver trappers, we know ; for 

 there are several frames near by which they used for stretch- 



