78 WAKE-ROBIN 
light at the word. The night was clear, moonless, 
and still. Nearing the middle of the lake, a breeze 
from the west was barely perceptible, and noiselessly 
we glided before it. The guide handled his oar 
with great dexterity; without lifting it from the 
water or breaking the surface, he imparted the 
steady, uniform motion desired. How silent it 
was! The ear seemed the only sense, and to hold 
dominion over lake and forest. Occasionally a lily- 
pad would brush along the bottom, and stooping 
low I could hear a faint murmuring of the water 
under the bow: else all was still. Then, almost as 
by magic, we were encompassed by a huge black 
ring. The surface of the lake, when we had reached 
the centre, was slightly luminous from the starlight, 
and the dark, even forest-line that surrounded us, 
doubled by reflection in the water, presented a 
broad, unbroken belt of utter blackness. The effect 
was quite startling, like some huge conjurer’s trick. 
It seemed as if we had crossed the boundary-line 
between the real and the imaginary, and this was 
indeed the land of shadows and of spectres. What 
magic oar was that the guide wielded that it could 
transport me to such a realm! Indeed, had I not 
committed some fatal mistake and left that trusty 
servant behind, and had not some wizard of the 
night stepped into his place? A slight splashing 
in-shore broke the spell and caused me to turn ner- 
vously to the oarsman: ‘‘Musquash,” said he, and 
kept straight on. 
Nearing the extreme end of the pond, the boat 
