TA Y-B UN-ANE-JE-GA Y. 273 



not a pike, big or little, had sampled our minnows. We 

 were like "Ye Sunberrye Fysher," our tackle was cor- 

 rect, but the fish were either absent or something else. 

 It was time to eat. 



I asked Henry: "Do you think that old Mouthful, as 

 you call him in shorthand, has brought us out here on a 

 fool's errand? This lake should contain pike, lake trout, 

 brook trout or perch, but we get no bites. The water 

 is not very cold, or the ice would be thicker; the springs 

 below keep the ice from getting too thick. Perhaps our 

 friend is only playing it on us for his grub." 



"If I was sure of that," said Henry, "I would advise 

 that we leave him, and go back and eat ours at camp, or 

 sit down here and eat, and only give a little bite, so that 

 he could not take so much at a mouthful." 



The luncheon was fairly divided. One of the tip-ups 

 showed the flag, and Henry jumped and ran for it. The 

 hook was bare ; a minnow had been taken. Old Mouth- 

 ful had probably divined our thoughts, for he arose and 

 said: "Kego-e-kay-e-mah," there are fish there. We let 

 our lines lower down, but got no fish. It was time to go 

 back to camp to prepare for the hungry linemen. Our 

 new friend went with us ; it was evident that he was fond 

 of our company or our pork it was not easy to tell 

 which. He saw the men come in and eat their dinner, 

 but got no invitation to join, for our chief did not wish 

 to encourage Indians to hang round the camp. Two 

 such men as He-who-takes-so-much-at-a-mouthful would 

 breed a famine in our commissary in a short time. They 

 would eat more than our six healthy white men, who 

 had the abnormal appetite that comes with a life in the 

 woods and active exercise in cold weather. The farm- 

 er's expression, "I'm as hungry as a hired man," fell 

 short of our appetites. 



