SKEGEMOG POINT 193 



easily the prime favourite with fishermen. The 

 brook itself is a joy. Just to company with it 

 makes life worth while. It chatters to you, laughs 

 at you, plays hide-and-go-seek with you, and never 

 gets to be an old story. Sitting on an old root, 

 just where a log fallen across the stream makes a 

 good hiding-place for the shy fish, it doesn't matter 

 very much whether you catch anything or not. The 

 checkers of sunlight are dancing all about you, a 

 red squirrel is scolding at you from a neighbouring 

 tree, a mink may go stealing by if you are quiet, 

 and over all is a great peace which steals into the 

 heart, filling it with profound contentment. 



One day we followed far up the brook, so far 

 that when the night fell and we saw a farmer's 

 home across the fields, it was deemed wise to seek 

 lodging there for the night rather than to attempt 

 the long trip back to the Point through the dark- 

 ness. The farmer and his wife were hospitable 

 and kindly, furnished us with an appetizing supper 

 and, later on, showed us to a tiny bed-room under 

 the eaves. It was not the fault of the house-wife, 

 for the buildings were old, but a brief stay in that 

 bed proved beyond peradventure that it had been 

 preempted. We did not " fight and run away " ; 

 we ran without even beginning to fight. Stealing 

 quietly down stairs we made for the neighbouring 

 barn and the haymow, where we slept untroubled 

 by anything more vicious than an occasional 

 " daddy-long-legs." Then, in the early morning, 



