IN THE ALGOMA WOODS 205 



a mile away in a great, bubbling spring. Owing 

 to the colour of the water the stream is called the 

 " Bluejay." 



When noon came, a fire was kindled in a se- 

 cluded spot close by the running brook. Coffee! 

 You never tasted any like it. Fried trout ! Why are 

 they never so appetizing as when cooked and eaten 

 in the open? We lingered long over that dinner, 

 and the writer would fain linger a little over that 

 day even now when it is only a memory. He has 

 known many happy days; days which are golden 

 as he looks back upon them across the years; but 

 among them all no day spent in the out-of-doors, 

 in touch with fields and stream and sky, stands 

 out more clearly and alluringly against the back- 

 ground of yesterday than that passed with the 

 dearest woman in the world upon the banks of the 

 Bluejay. The sun was low in the west as we 

 started homeward, and from the summit of a low 

 hill over which the road led, we looked north and 

 eastward over miles of woodland and cultivated 

 fields, and saw in the distance the glistening waters 

 of the bay. Yes, there is the lighthouse at Manito- 

 waning, and the children are watching for us. In 

 spite of the alluring beauty of the scene, something 

 more attractive awaits us yonder. We must 

 hasten. 



Before leaving home it had been decided that 

 all but one member of the family should spend a 

 portion of the vacation time in visiting old friends. 



