116 NEWFOUNDLAND 



ness, nevertheless attended to me personally ; a few scattered 

 ouananiche rose at the floating insects, and far away down 

 the stream I could see my "wet bobs" lugging, drawing, 

 and pushing their handy little craft against the swiftly- 

 flowing stream. It was delightful to sit and smoke, and 

 enjoy the charming dolce far niente laziness of basking in 

 the sun, and wondering whether the good people in Sussex 

 were still shivering under umbrellas and mackintoshes, as 

 they had been doing during May, June, July, and August 

 in the year of grace 1903. One or two of my friends had 

 even cast eyes of pity upon me for coming to those "dreadful 

 Arctic regions," as they fondly imagined Newfoundland to be. 



And yet how different it was. How nice to lie on the 

 moss amidst the sun-warmed stones where thoughts were 

 singing rivers and the dews of morning shone, and to listen 

 for the bumping of the canoes round the bend. 



But pleasurable thoughts and the contemplated enjoyment 

 of ten minutes of that masterpiece, " The Experiences of an 

 Irish R.M.," were abruptly terminated by the breaking of a 

 small stick two hundred yards away on the far bank. I 

 only just heard it, it was almost a sound striking one's inner 

 consciousness, yet when a man has hunted all kinds of birds 

 and beasts, as I have done for years, the mind is soon alive 

 to natural explanations and quick to read them. It might 

 have been caused by some small mammal, but except the 

 varying hare, an ermine, or a small vole, there are no small 

 beasts to speak of in the country. A bird would not 

 have done it, or the sound would be quickly repeated. So 

 I listened attentively. Yes, there it was again. This time 

 unmistakable — the gradual crushing break of some large 

 animal treading on dry wood. 



The river was rather deep on the far side, so I had to 



