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SEPT. 14, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

“6 
You land eet, m’sieu,’ said the boy, ‘but this 
was feesh.’ 
Tt as all the to 
angler, who was always laughing. 
retorted the 
‘If 1 can only 
same me,’ 
see these Lorelei I will reach them.’ 
“The boy looked at the big American in 
wonder, then he threw pack upon 
shoulders and led the way into the deep gloom 
They crossed and recrossed the 
his his 
of the pines. 
stream, coming out into sun-lit pastures filled 
with flowers, where the light played joyously, 
and the air was full of the incense of nature, the 
resinescent tang of the ‘pine, the soft perfume of 
blossoms, the fragrance of bush and bough, of 
trampled wood and crushed leaves—a brew fit 
for the gods, that filled the nostrils and made the 
heart beat strong in love of the wild, the un- 
contaminated in nature. 
“Across the wild garden they walked, ever 
rising; now entering a belt of pines, again lost 
in deep shadows, while the needles tossed in- 
cense into the air at every step. As the river 
wind came soughing by, the angler stopped to 
listen as it sung and sobbed. 
“What does it say to you, m’sieu?’ asked 
Baptiste as the sound swept on and on. 
“*To me?’ said the angler. ‘Why,'I see the 
distant sea, its waves beating on cruel rocks. I 
see the sea rise higher and higher; its roar in- 
creases as it comes piling in. I see the crest 
combing, breaking on the sand. I white 
sails torn, faces of dead women and children. 
Now it passes, is far away, the moan, the plaint 
of the deep sea. And you, Baptiste, what do 
you see?’ 
“*T, m’sieu? 
see 
I see the Lor’lei; look, m’sieu, 
look!’ 
“The boy whirled about. They been 
climbing the slope of the Laurentian hills, whose 
titanic arms reached down to the great river of 
the north; and as the angler followed the di- 
rection of the gesture he saw through the trees 
range after range of radiant mountains that ex- 
tend back from the St. Lawrence between 
Quebec and the land of Tadousac. They came 
down like great serpents to drink, and the green 
ridges could be counted as far as the eye could 
reach; and at the base of each, reaching up and 
blending with the emerald tones, a blue so deep, 
so rich and pure that one might well believe 
that a great band of blue from some splendid 
tourmaline formed the base of each range. The 
color seemed to float in the air, an evanescent 
mystic irised haze that filled each cafon, gulch, 
or gorge. For a moment the artist did not 
speak, and the boy looked with glistening eyes 
upon the scene. 
“ “So this is the Lorelei, Baptiste?’ 
SS Yiesmarsiet.’ 
“*VYour Lorelei is a sapphire mountain, Bap- 
tiste, a mist of cerulean dreams. By heaven! I 
must paint these Lorelei and you shall tell me 
how they look when we get nearer.’ 
“ ‘Nearer, m’sieu?’ 
“*Ves, we will follow 
down.’ 
“Ah, m’sieu, you do not know our Lorelei. 
There they are, floating een the wind, listening 
to the song of the trees; but you can nev’ 
reach any nearer, you must paint the Lorelei 
from here. So you move, so they pass on before, 
m’sieu. They lure you on, an’ on, ov’ mountain, 
hill, till you die, m’sieu.’ 
“Well, we will try this lure,’ rejoined the 
artist, smiling at the boy. 
had 
them up; run them 
““Ah, thought Baptiste in French, ‘could this 
good patron ever be serious about anything but 
fishing. Saint coeur de Marie! if he only could.’ 
“That night they camped on the mouth of 
the little Lauval, where the St. Lawrence is so 
wide that the few dwellers there had never seen 
or been across, then early in the morning, tak- 
ing the canoe, they paddled out into the stream 
As the 
Baptiste stopped paddling and they 
and turned down the shore to the east. 
sun rose 
floated on and watched the marvelous coming of 
the Lorelei from the sea; saw the deep black 
shadows that had filled the night 
slink away, change to purple, fade to green, to 
violet, and then, then the Lorelei came—faint, 
canons at 
nebulous, irised forms in every gulch and ravine 
as far as the eye could reach. They feasted their 
eyes on the splendid color, then paddled on. 
“*VYou see, m’sieu,’ said Baptiste, after a long 
silence and continuous work with the paddle, 
‘we have sail five miles; this ees the gulch we 
see the Lorelei een, but they have escaped; there 
they are, steel five mile beyond!’ 
“This was true. The beautiful 
the sapphire mist, the irised nebula—terms that 
filled the mind and soul and eyes of the artist; 
the blue of Labrador was still just as far ahead 
The river was a disk of 
had drawn 
blue bands, 
and beyond his reach. 
steel over which some subtle hand 
a lace of old rose, and was a medley of colors 
that deepened as the sun rose higher and higher. 
The artist was not satisfied; he had traveled all 
over the world, but had color like 
this, had never watched it steal and creep away 
never seen 
just like this. 
“ ‘Batiste !’ 
SeQuin. tm’ Set.” 
““Tyo you see the big gray rock rising out of 
the blue haze, the iris hill?’ 
“‘The iris mountain, out of the Lorelei, 
pardon, m’sieu.’ 
“Well, out of the Lorelei if you wish,’ said 
the artist. ‘It is perhaps ten miles distant. I 
will meet you there. Take the down, 
make the camp and wait for me while I chase 
this Lorelei through the forest.’ 
“Baptiste turned the canoe inshore, ran into 
a little cove from which reached away the moun- 
canoe 
tains, packed his master’s kit, handed him his 
rifle, then stepped and 
shoved. off, saying, ‘Adieu, m’sieu, but you will 
never ov’tak’ the Lorelei.’ 
“*Adieu. You forget the 
Roberval that you told me I could not take, 
and the trout of San Ovier, and : 
“ “Ah, m’sieu, but this ees is not ouananiche, 
it ees Lorelei. Adieu.’ 
“The artist, angler, dreamer plunged into the 
forest and climbed the ridge of the Laurentian 
range. An hour later he looked down on miles 
of country far to the Chicoutimi. He had left 
the river to the right and before him was the 
lure, the deep color at the base of other ranges 
It was not easy work. 
into the canoe again 
ouananiche of 

of hill always miles away. 
There was no trail and he climbed on, crossed 
turbulent streams, pushing through the bush, 
and when night overtook him sought the 
shelter of a pine and slept in the open. 
morning and another day he traveled on, climb- 
The next 
ing impossible hills and slopes in the heart of 
the Laurentides. When he turned he saw far 
behind the irised slopes, the tints of the Lorelei, 
now following him, and to the north; they were 
all about but always just so far away. In- 
sensibly he had turned away from the river, and 
thinking he must have passed the rock and sus- 
pecting that he was lost, he began to follow a 
small stream downward that must in time reach 
the great river. 
to tell on him and toward 
night he the 
ravine, caught the splendid tints of purple, saw 
the Lorelei that had lured him on creeping down 
“Fatigue began 
wearily began ascent of a deep 
to the unseen river; then out from a little clear- 
ing came a gleam of light. Down he plunged 
through the 
bounded toward him, and found himself on the 
bush, stopping as several dogs 
bank of a small stream. 
“ Est ce que, vous, mon pére?’ came a soft 
musical voice from the gloom; then, ‘Oh, a 
Back; down, Ramon! back, Jean!’ and 
seized the St. Bernards by their 
collars, one in each hand, and held them back, 
as they growled ominously; held them and re- 
stranger. 
a young girl 
garded the stranger in amazement 
“Where did you come from, sir—Chicoutimi?’ 
she asked. 


“But the apparition so astonished the wornout 
man that he stood leaning on his rifle in silence, 
looking at the girl until a deep glow suffused 
her face. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he finally said, 
‘but I have been out several days and nights; 
I believe Iam lost. I have missed my way. I 
was following the—you are not the Lorelei, are 
you?’ 
“Tl? exclaimed the girl; ‘no, I am Noémie 
Laval. If you are lost, come to my father’s.’ 
“The man, dazed and confused by fatigue, fol- 
lowed the girl into the clearing. As they ap- 
proached the cabin with its concave roof, a man 
came out of the forest and in French asked the 
what he wanted. 
girl who the stranger was; 
his 
J GES father, who 
and needs shelter.’ 
“Fi speak poor Inglish, said the man, touch- 
ing his hat to the stranger. Los’? ess dat h’all, 
But ma leetle Noémie, she speak. You 
Hi ’ave h’only feeshin’ camp, 
stranger, has lost way 
m’sieu? 
welcome, m’sieu. 
but you welcome, m’sieu.’ 
“Tm worn out with fatigue, I must confess, 
‘Many thanks. I am 
a painter, or trying to be. My name is John 
Duryea. I live in New York. My was 
to make camp at a point down the river where 
I was to join him, but I lost my way, and am 
) 
said the artist-angler. 
guide 
very glad to find some one.’ 
“Ma name is Toussaint Laval,’ rejoined the 
native. ‘Ma Noémie, half Hinglish. 
She fix you up, den we have deener. You must 
be hoffle ’ungry, m’sieu.’ 
“They went into the little cabin which stood 
leetle she 
ust above the water’s edge, and Toussaint forced 
Duryea into the only chamber, gave him a 
venison dinner, after which he assisted him to 
bed. When he awoke his breakfast was by the 
couch, steaming hot. Some one had placed it 
there, then gone out and knocked. 
“Vou feel better after you h’eat, das a fac’,’ 
said Toussaint. ‘’Ow you feel, m’sieu?’ 
«Better, much better,’ replied Duryea. who 
could hardly move. But he rose and dressed after 
he had eaten. He that was 
of rough tree trunks but neat and clean, and at 
the head of the bed was a little shrine where the 
When 
he went out Toussaint had gone to set his nets, 
and he joined the young girl and looked at her 
saw the room 
young girl (for it was her room) knelt. 
in amazement, so beautiful was she, a Dresden 
figure in calico—a type of all that was beautiful 
and exquisite—and Duryea could not believe his 

