TOM AH JOSEPH. 143 



the shore of the stream, but no harm came of it : 

 two strong Indians fished her out, and I Well, 

 I'm afraid I stood on the bank, and laughed " shuste 

 a leetle bit." 



The stage, this time a lumbering two-seated 

 wagon with two strong horses, is awaiting us ; our 

 luggage, having reached here before us, is snugly 

 stowed, all but one box of stores which we left on 

 the steamer at Portland to follow us. Our canoe 

 is firmly lashed to the side of the wagon ; we 

 mount to our seats, and rattle off at a comfortable 

 pace, on our ride of three miles to our headquar- 

 ters at the foot of Grand Lake. 



We decide to pitch our camp on "Missionary 

 Hill." Why missionary, I don't know. We select 

 this spot because Tomah says, " Good breeze, few 

 flies." I am inclined to think that if Joe were 

 engaged to cook a fortnight for a party expecting 

 to encamp there, he would now say, " Bad place, 

 sun hot, flies thick, mosquito he bite, midges, ugh ! " 

 The fact is, Joe found it too much up-hill, and I 

 think we all did. Jim Coffin's front yard is a better 

 spot. 



Camp " Prouty," a name familiar to all lovers of 

 the angle, as that of a gentleman well versed in the 

 fisher's art, built by a gentleman from Calais, Mr. 

 Sawyer, now occupies the summit of the hill, and 



