e fire, "you are not a half bad sort of a fellow."

"Wallace," said be, "we'll have a pipeful of this every night until it
is gone."

"I'd try it, too," said Hubbard wistfully, "but I know it would make me
sick, so I'll drink a little tea."

After he had had his tea, he read to us the First Psalm. These
readings from the Bible brought with them a feeling of indescribable
comfort, and I fancy we all went to our blankets that night content to
know that whatever was, was for the best.

With the first signs of dawn we were up and had another pot of bone
broth. Again the morning (October 12th) was crisp and beautiful, and
the continuance of the good weather gave us new courage. While the
others broke camp, I went on down the river bank in the hope of finding
game, but when, after I had walked a mile, they overtook me with the
canoe I had seen nothing. While boiling bones at noon, we
industriously employed ourselves in removing the velvet skin from the
antlers and singeing the hair off. In the afternoon we encountered
more rapids. Once Hubbard relieved me at the stern paddle, but he was
too weak to act quickly, and we had a narrow escape from being
overturned.

While making camp at night, George heard a whiskey jack calling, and he
sneaked off into the brush and shot it. We reserved it as a dainty for
breakfast. As we sat by the fire gnawing bones and chewing up scorched
pieces of antlers, we again discussed the question as to whether we
should stick to the canoe and run the river out to its mouth or abandon
the canoe where we had entered the river. As usual George and I urged
the former course.

"When you're in the bush stick to your canoe as long as you can," said
George; "that's always a good plan."

But Hubbard was firm in the belief that we should take the route we
knew, and renewed his argument about the possibility of getting
windbound on Goose Bay, into which we thought the river flowed. Being
windbound had for him especial terrors, due, I suppose, to his normally
active nature. Another thing that inclined him towards taking the old
trail was his strong faith that we should get trout in the outlet to
Lake Elson, where we had such a successful fishing on the inbound
journey. He argued, furthermore, that along what we then thought was
the Nascaupee River we should be able to recover the provisions we had
abandoned soon after plunging into the wild.

"However," he said in closing, "we'll see how we f