and pails of jam. We were noticed 
and suddenly the congenial “bruit” 
ceased. A quick moving little French¬ 
man with sparkling black eyes and 
curly black hair set a steaming pot of 
coffee in the middle of the table and 
came toward us: “Entrez m’sieurs, 
Entrez, Entrez!” he beamed an en¬ 
thusiastic French welcome, and mo¬ 
tioned us into the room which was 
rapidly becoming lined with thin clouds 
of blue smoke as pipe after pipe be¬ 
gan to add blueness to the atmosphere 
and warmth and good humor to the 
“fireman.” 
The supper was about over and the 
men were leaning back with deep sighs 
of contentment and pipy chuckles. Did 
you ever hear a man chuckle with a 
pipe in his mouth? You should; he’s 
your friend on the spot—you feel like 
giving him your shirt and telling him 
about your history and your ambi¬ 
tions. 
More plates were set and we “drew 
up” or, rather, we “slid in on” to the 
benches wherever there was room. The 
capacity of the lumberman’s table is 
never less than ten more than expected. 
The talking and laughter grew again 
to it’s former congenial hub-bub. Some 
of the men spoke English poorly, and 
Frank and Cleve spoke French quite 
as poorly. We felt like lumbermen; 
we clattered dishes and ate like lum¬ 
bermen. And I doubt not that if 
seven more weary canoeists had shown 
up in the doorway it would have been 
—a moment’s pause, then, “Entrez, 
M’sieurs! Entrez, entrez!”—a shov¬ 
ing over—more plates—a few ques¬ 
tions such as, “Which way?”—“How 
far?” and then, “Oui, Burnt Portage 
very bad t’ree mile,” and so on. 
It was unusual for Americans, and 
they knew us at a glance for “for 
eigners, to come into the country, es¬ 
pecially in the summer. In fall tired 
business men run away from their 
desks for a week in the “bush.” They 
“take a guide”—the guide takes them 
—he shows them a moose—they shoot 
it — the guide butchers it, trims the 
head and takes the hunter and the 
hunted back to Kipawa. But in the sum¬ 
mer—and past Grand Lake! And no 
guide!!! Mon Dieu! 
W e were full—not another prune, 
not another bean could find room be¬ 
hind seven American belts, and the 
table was still loaded. Oh, ye starv¬ 
ing cities—be lumbermen and live! 
The pipes were done and one by one 
the men drifted over to the bunk 
house. Lumbermen don’t linger long 
after supper. They are up early— 
they talk at meals, four a day—they 
laugh and sing and swear at their 
work. After supper—a pipe—then the 
blankets. 
We turned in quickly. All the magic 
- 
Page 581 
SuperX 
Snapped in the act! 
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For all kinds of shooting, the Western “Field” has the 
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This very unusual photograph was 
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In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. It will identify you. 
