SALT. 113 



appetite at once rose. In less than five minutes I had 

 him, a good, solid three-pounder, in the landing-net, and 

 at once struck a bee line for the log house in the clearing. 



The cabin was nothing to boast of as a shelter. The 

 roof was tight over the end opposite the chimney, but the 

 windows were destitute of glass, and the breeze, which 

 had sprung up freshly before I left the lake, was talking 

 loudly to itself inside of the place as I approached it. 

 There was plenty of wood around the old hut, and in ten 

 minutes I had the chimney blazing at a terrible rate. 

 Fire-light is as much of a polisher in-doors as moonlight 

 outside. It smoothes down all the roughness of an in- 

 terior. It reddened the walls of the cabin and covered 

 them with dancing images. I had nothing in the way of 

 eatables except the trout, hard bread, and some salt. The 

 salt was the great article. It was on the faith of that salt 

 that I had ventured on the expedition. With a few pinch- 

 es of salt and a good rod or gun, one may live luxuriously 

 for a while, if he have luck. Without the salt only im- 

 agine it. You may not think much of it as a thing to 

 possess, but just reverse the picture and imagine fish and 

 game in abundance without it, and you may thereby find 

 in some measure what it is worth. 



I recall oftentimes a scene at Wady Halfe where the 

 palms of Ethiopia bear golden fruit, but where salt is 

 worth more than golden dates. There I have bought 

 bushels of luxurious fruit for a single handful of the con- 

 densed brine from the far-off sea. 



One half of the trout was turning before the blaze, hung 

 on the small end of a birch sapling ; the other half was 

 reserved for breakfast, for it was by no means certain that 

 any other food was to be found. A pile of hay from the 

 barn made a soft bed in the sheltered end of the room. 



H 



