76 THROUGH CANADA 



there was an island with a wooden habitation perched 

 on a high rock. This was Wanikewin, or the " house 

 on the rock." To do it full justice it was the hotel 

 whose hospitality stood between me and starvation, 

 and destined to provide guide, canoe, and all the 

 paraphernalia of a camping outfit. 



The moment the train moved off on its northern 

 journey, leaving my solitary figure in more emphatic 

 relief, a boat was pushed off the island, and the quick 

 flash of a paddle assured me that I had been 

 discovered. 



Wanikewin as an achievement of civilization was 

 only a degree removed from the general desolation 

 of the place. It was a wooden structure, through 

 which the wind whistled all day, and at night the 

 music incidental to somnolence in one apartment 

 could be heard in all the rest. The chance rambler 

 outside the precincts was by no means cut off from 

 any advantage that this primitiveness conferred. 

 There was not a glass window in the house. A 

 mosquito net closely nailed to an opening did duty 

 for that. It succeeded in keeping out the winged 

 pests, but not the rain, which forced its way through 

 the network during the night. So near was the 

 whole thing to the heart of nature, that the skunks 

 claimed a right of entrance, and had to be shot. A 

 beautiful specimen underwent that fate half an hour 

 after my arrival, which insisted in making a store- 

 room a nesting-place for her young. 



