OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



dreamed that a curious industry once flourished there? 

 None of these things. The school of fish had departed, 

 and the whole village after it. By man power and by 

 horse power the small houses had been pulled along on 

 their wooden runners to a more auspicious camp be-, 

 hind a projecting point. A forest of upstanding stakes 

 marked the deserted openings already coating over with 

 thin ice, and the noise of sawing was heard in the dis- 

 tance where the blocks of ice were being turned over, 

 thereby opening a way for the fisherman's lines in the 

 floor of his hut. 



Even in winter many and various are the pictures 

 framed in the upright panels of my windows. To be 

 sure the mise en scene remains the same, but the effects 

 are always altering. Besides the changing lights there 

 is usually enough of life to bring a sensation of pleas- 

 ure. It is the small things, after all, which stand ever 

 ready to interest us if we only can perceive them. 



That muscular figure skating in long easy strides 

 across the bay, pushing before him a sled heaped with 

 bulging bags, little recks he of my appreciation. He is 



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