THE LAUEENTIDES PARK 



admitted that she was "pas mal vieille," 

 which was no more than the truth, as 

 she was eighty-four. * ' Poor old thing, ' ' 

 said I, "and where does she live?" He 

 pointed with his whip to a little cottage 

 on the hillside. "And does she live there 

 all alone?" "But, no, she tends her 

 mother. ' ' And true it was. 



Nicolas Aubin in the full strength of 

 manhood felled, trimmed, sawed, split, 

 and piled three and a half cords of birch 

 a day for six consecutive days, and had 

 time left to help an old companion to 

 complete his tale. Thomas Fortin, hav- 

 ing driven an axe clean through his foot, 

 hopped fifty miles home through the 

 wilderness and the March snows, hum- 

 ming old world songs when the pain 

 kept him sleepless at night that he might 

 not distress his companion by groaning. 

 So one might continue to recount Hom- 

 eric deeds, if much did not remain to be 

 told about the Park itself. 



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