154 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



paddle, would shatter their frail craft, and place the 

 occupants in a decidedly unpleasant, if not danger- 

 ous position. 



This morning we were lions in nerve : our breakfast 

 had tamed our appetites, but not our spirits, and we 

 were ready for adventure, thirsting for it. 



" Barest thou leap into yonder birch, and tempt 

 the roaring flood?" Thus, or in words of similar 

 import, I addressed madam. And she, with spar- 

 kling eye, though looking somewhat askant at the 

 miniature Niagara, replied, 



"Where thou goest, I will go." 



Beckoning to Joe, I gave him a sign, by trans- 

 forming myself for a moment into an Italian image- 

 peddler, which he, understanding the imagery, 

 answered by making a head-dress of his canoe, 

 and marching towards us. 



"Joe," said I, as he gently deposited his grace- 

 ful burden at our feet, "do you dare to run us 

 through in the birch?" 



A thoughtful look overshadowed his face, and 

 his hand went to his chin ; he turned toward the 

 stream, casting his eyes in the direction of the 

 rapids, whose roar he could hear, but whose rush- 

 ing current he could not see ; then, turning to us, 

 he replied, 



"Yes; I think it's safe, but you mustn't be 

 afraid of a wetting." 



