An Evening on Lake Waterford. 



little while Mrs. H. or Mrs. S. reach out over the boat and 

 dip their hands in the water to see if we are really moving. 



Rowing on around the south side of the island we pass the 

 village boat-landing, and glide along down the west shore to 

 camp. A bright fire of light wood is soon burning and we 

 gather in a family circle around it. The brighter the fire lights 

 up the immediate surroundings, the darker grow the shadows 

 in the forest beyond. What odd and distorted shapes the most 

 common-place things assume in a bright firelight, with the 

 deep forest shadows for a background ! See that piece of 

 broken limb ; it looks like a panther crouched for a spring ! See 

 yon big vine, twisted around that old forest monarch, with its 

 broken end hanging out from the tree, swaying back and forth 

 in the breeze ; it looks like a big serpent ! That old rotten 

 stump by the side of the path looks like a bear watching a 

 chance to embrace somebody. 



Beyond, through the small opening in the trees, shows a 

 little patch of the lake, and so brightly does it glisten in the 

 moonlight that it looks like a suspended mirror in the foliage. 



Looking at these unstable shadows is like day-dreaming 

 among the summer clouds. One's imagination can weave them 

 into all sorts of fanciful shapes and forms. 



While we have been studying these unsubstantial firelight 

 shadows, Will has got out the violin and we enjoy a half hour 

 singing old familiar songs. If there is any place on earth 

 where these good old airs can be fully appreciated and enjoyed, 

 that place is in the woods, around the evening camp-fire. 



The hour is growing late and all but Will and I have re- 

 tired. We move up a little closer to the dying embers of the 

 fire, and sit an hour longer telling of our hunting and fishing 

 experiences of the past, and planning pleasure trips for the 

 future. 



The last flickering blaze of our fire dies out, a little wreath 

 of white smoke is curling up through the dark foliage, we 

 scrape the coals together, cover them with ashes, and retire to 

 the tent. 



[173] 



