at the outlet until very
late in the autumn and sometimes throughout the whole winter.

March sees the greatest depth of snow at Great Bear Lake, probably three
feet. In mid-April the thaws begin, and by May-day arrive the earlier
water-fowl. By the end of May the herbaceous plants begin to leaf, frogs
are heard, and there is bright light at midnight. The end of July brings
blueberries, and at this time stars are visible at midnight. September
is ushered in by flurries of snow, and by the tenth of October the last
of the wild-fowl depart; but it is often Christmas Day before the centre
of the lake freezes over.

When we awake it is Sunday, July 12th, Orangeman's Day, with no one
going round with a chip on his shoulder, and nobody to whistle "Boyne
Water." The wind falling, the steamer is turned and we bear away across
the river to Fort Norman, leaving the shelter of Bear Rock, the "Nest of
the Wind" of the Indian. Tradition and superstition hang round this
great butte, with its heart of coloured gypsum several hundred feet in
thickness, and on its face we plainly see the three beaver-skins that
the Great Spirit, "in the beginning," spread out there to dry. We find
Fort Norman a beautiful place in the sunshine of this Sunday morning,
the souls of its scanty populace well looked after by Roman and
Protestant missionary. Bishop Breynat is expected on the mission boat
coming up the river, and all is excitement among the sheep belonging to
his particular flock. The parson of the other fold is in his library,
and, visiting him, we duly admire his neat garden of potatoes and peas,
beets and turnips. The reverend gentleman owns up to finding Norman
lonely in winter and recalls with appreciation his last charge in the
outports of Newfoundland, where the tedium was relieved by tennis and
pink-teas.

[Illustration: Roman Catholic Church at Fort Norman]

[Illustration: The Ramparts of the Mackenzie]

Seldom have we seen a more beautiful vista than the up-climbing path
leading from the shore to the Roman chapel at the head of the hill. It
is bordered by flaming fireweed and lined with the eager faces of
children dressed in their Sunday best, ready for morning mass and
awaiting the blessing of their Bishop. Wherever the willow-herb
flourishes there a Guadet is serving The Company. One was in charge at
lonely Wrigley, and we find his brother here.

Leaving Norman before church-time, we travel on, the glory of the
peerless day