302 Tue Aroostook Woops. 

down cover, push in the plug, untie and cast off from the 
bushes, dip and dip together, lively, for to get there before 
they are too cold to be nice. 
The Commodore is soon cutting his favorite broiling wood, 
small maple or birch, whilst the crew starts a fire beside the 
rocks near a good log for both seat and table, the Commodore 
having already faced of a level place for the dishes. The 
black tea kettle is in its usual place; not that we need hurry 
up the tea as yet, but the black kettle hanging over the blaze, 
upon its forked stick, adds a prominent part to the scene and 
stirs up the enthusiastic enthusiasm of the crew, as he sits 
dressing the trout upon the shore. Our new luncheon box is 
on the bank beside us, and by the way, we are as proud of 
this new acquisition as a young doctor of his first medicine 
case. We throw back the waterproof cover, as we are re- 
quested to hand the broiler, make the tea and set the table, 
and are pleased and surprised at the showing, as we had no 
hand in this, and supposed the Commodore had simply hinged 
on a cover, as a lunch box. But we see small tin boxes by 
the dozen, or less, all snug in their partitions; one of butter, 
one of sugar, salt, pepper, tea; in one a hunk of old fashioned 
mottled castile soap, a half cake of Welcome, towels, etc., 
while the other square, after removing a paper of biscuits, 
shows the broiler, two tin plates, two dippers, knives, forks, etc. 
The worthy Commodore, who yet (secretly) prides himself 
much on his broiling, is having his usual good luck with the 
trout, is turning them once more flesh side down, and now 
gives them that last satisfied glance, and luncheon is ready. 
Sitting astride the log, facing each other, the luncheon box 
beside us, the tea pail within reach, our broiled trout before 
us, we find our appetite for them as fine as at the first. Fresh 
