A LABRADOR SPRING 
sweet-meats do the palate, and for the moment 
renders all other bird music dull and uninterest- 
ing by comparison.” 
Another small stream, yet of considerable size, 
was one whose distant roaring added to the 
charms of the little protected harbour among 
the Isles des Corneilles, where we had cast 
anchor. This stream, this River of the Crow, 
for such I suppose was its name, gave me but 
a glimpse of its rushing, turbid waters as it 
came pouring down through the spruce forest, 
whose melting snows were silently adding to 
its volume. From these dark and tangled 
evergreen thickets not only here but also along 
the whole coast, a wonderfully varied and de- 
lightful bird-song would emerge at frequent 
intervals and at all times of day. Like most 
of the inhabitants of this coast the bird spoke 
French, and, with great clearness and insistence, 
it would frequently and repeatedly call tout 
de suite. At least so it seemed to me, but per- 
haps it was because of my recently acquired 
sensitiveness to the French language, for in 
Newfoundland and other English-speaking 
countries I had never noticed this French 
phrase. It would also say loudly and clearly 
248 
