IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



tended prospect with delight; the valley of 

 the Cruche, bare of trees to the craggy 

 mountain tops on either hand, opens sud- 

 denly below us and we feel the exhilaration 

 of a release from confinement. Growth is 

 slow at an altitude which gives this pla- 

 teau the climate, fauna and flora of the La- 

 brador, but every inch where a seed can 

 root itself has some lowly tenant. Only is 

 nature balked when the vegetable mould 

 has been devoured by fires. These must 

 have happened from the beginning — 

 though lightning does not work a hun- 

 dredth part the damage wrought by the 

 stupidities of man — for twice in our short 

 day the bolt was seen to strike and kindle. 

 When the very soil itself is gone, nothing 

 remains but glacial boulders, sand and gra- 

 vel. Then must begin anew the long pro- 

 cesses, through a chain of the humbler 

 forms of life, which after many centuries — 

 fire sparing the patient attempt — will re- 

 store that wherein trees may flourish. 

 Even the first clothing of the barren sur- 

 face with moss is so deliberate an affair 

 that progress can hardly be noted in the 

 lifetime of a man. 



The Riviere de la Cruche, now a large 

 brook, and in spate not unworthy the name 

 158 



