CHAPTER X. 



GRINDSTONE BROOK FOREST SOUNDS A FUNNY TREE, COV- 

 ERED WITH SNOW FLAKES. 



WE crossed over towards a deep bay on the west shore, to 

 where a stream comes cascading down the rocks, and leap- 

 ing into the lake, as if rejoicing at finding a resting-place in 

 its quiet bosom. The spot where this stream enters, is in 

 the deep shadow of the old forest trees that reach then- 

 leafy arms far out from the ledges on which they grow, 

 forming an arch above, and shutting out the sunlight. 

 Here the trout congregate, to enjoy the cool water that 

 comes down from the hills above. We approached it care- 

 fully, and Smith, by way of experiment, cast his fly across 

 the current where the stream enters the lake. It was seized 

 by a beautiful fish weighing, perhaps, two pounds. We did 

 not need him, for the place where we proposed to pitch our 

 tents for the night would afford us all the fish required, and 

 after lifting him into the boat with the landing-net and 

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