194. DAYS IN THE OPEN 



back to the brook again and to trout that fairly 

 tumbled over one another in their eagerness to grab 

 the " Silver Doctor " as the light rod sent it flitting 

 to and fro over the face of the stream. 



When one of the guests proposed, one evening, 

 that we all go on an excursion up the lakes the 

 next day, there was hearty and unanimous assent. 

 The lakes that wash the shores of Skegemog Point 

 are only two of a series, all connected by thorough- 

 fares. A steamer of light draught can go the whole 

 length of the chain, some twenty-five miles or more. 

 The next morning proved ideal for such a trip. 

 The sky was a deep blue with just enough fleecy 

 clouds in it to furnish the needed contrast. The 

 wind set little wavelets to dancing on every inch 

 of the lake, but never grew troublesome and un- 

 pleasant. The farmers were at work in their grain 

 fields on either shore, the luncheon was excellent, 

 and nothing occurred to mar the pleasure of the 

 day. Why write of an experience so common and 

 so uneventful? Just because of what the day 

 brought to one member of the little company. 



Among the excursionists was a man in middle 

 life whose mother had gone home to God the 

 previous Christmas-time. He had seen the light 

 go out of her eyes, had held her hand in his as 

 she breathed her last, had stood by the new-made 

 grave in the village cemetery as they lowered the 

 casket into the earth. The snow lay deep upon the 

 ground and was steadily falling as the friends 



