22 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



arm of the bay, while behind it, further north, 

 the Barasois River, winding through primeval 

 forests, flowed eastward to reach the sea ahead 

 of us outside of the mouth of St. Anne's Bay. 

 Soon we saw Englishtown a mile or two in front 

 of us, on the eastern side of the bay, and then 

 we noticed, apparently running from shore to 

 shore, a narrow white bar which separated bay 

 from sea. Now the clouds began to break and 

 roll away, and far, far beyond the bar we could 

 see headlands of various degrees of dignity and 

 grandeur looking seaward. The last of them, 

 very distant, very high, cloud-capped, with a 

 front like Blomidon's steepest face, filled us 

 with a yearning to reach it and worship at its 

 mighty shrine. It was Smoky, the monarch of 

 the northern sea. 



Glorious yellow sunshine poured down upon 

 Barasois Mountain and the heaving waters of 

 St. Anne's Bay as we entered the little fishing 

 village of Englishtowu. The worst of the storm 

 was passing beyond us, and myriad perpendicu- 

 lar lines of falling rain were ruled from sea to 

 sky across the north. With latent impatience 

 we rested, ate, and said good-by to our friends. 

 Then our feet tramped the muddy road, our 

 noses sniffed the atmosphere of drying cod on 

 the flakes, our ears listened to the song of the 

 juncos, and our eyes gazed forward, northward, 



