IN THE MAINE WOODS. 



169 



towering just behind and above, water 

 rippling in front, shadows tinged with 

 scarlet and yellow trembling in re- 

 flection about and between us and the 

 deer — the Columbian Exposition had 

 nothing to compare with it. Miss 

 Beauty turned away at last, not 

 frightened at all, and we lifted over 

 the dam a few minutes later, on our 

 way to camp. 



A short way down the brook is a 

 sluice, constructed by blasting and 

 digging out the rock and piling it on 

 each side. I could reach out my hands 

 and touch both sides at once, yet the 

 water was deep enough and clear of 

 obstructions. I laughed as I entered 

 this, standing in the canoe. That 

 laugh was 25 rods long, though it did 

 not last long. No toboggan slide 

 could equal it. That slipping, slid- 

 ing, gliding flashing, almost falling 

 through space sensation, could only 

 be experienced in a canoe. 



Are days short in October? 



The sun of that one had set when 

 I took Ben aboard. The current bore 

 us slowly forward. Shadows deep- 

 ened. The silence was broken by a 

 rush, a crash of brush and a splash 



just behind us. Only a quick catch 

 saved the canoe from upsetting as we 

 both twisted around in time to see a 

 deer making his second spring in the 

 brook and to the bank, instantly to 

 be lost to view. 



He had struck the water just be- 

 hind us, less than a rod in fact. No 

 doubt he had scented us, and not lo- 

 cated properly. It must have been a 

 surprise to him as well as to us. 



We were 3 miles from camp. The 

 edges of the stream were already 

 black with shadows. Only a gleaming 

 reflection of light, soft, wavering, un- 

 certain, to guide us along the mid- 

 stream ; yet we cleared every rock and 

 log, started 2 stampedes in the bushes 

 as we passed, ran the rapids without 

 accident, raced down the lake before 

 the increasing Northwest gale, and 

 reached camp at half past nine. 



For a half hour the axes were 

 swung by torch light; a hot supper 

 was eaten and we slept, covered by 

 our good blankets and by a grateful 

 wave of heat, thrown back from the 

 green birch fire into the Baker tent 

 and reflected full upon us from the 

 sloping roof. 



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AMATEUR PHOTO BY W. J. OICK 



FUTURE WINNERS. 



