make the trip
more than once, like a boy I knew, whose proud boast it was that he had
gone in swimming seven times in one afternoon. The very idle and
self-indulgent ones, I reckon, spend nearly the whole day in their
spacious and well-fitted bath-tub.

The mountain lake has been turned into a reservoir for the neighbouring
village of Seal Harbor. But the gulls do not know that, I am sure; nor
would anyone else who judged by outward appearances suspect that such a
transformation had taken place. For the dam at the outlet is made of
rough stones, very low, almost unnoticeable; and the water has not been
raised enough to kill any of the trees or spoil the shore. Jordan Pond,
which was named for a commonplace lumberman who used to cut timber on
its banks, and which has, so far as I know, no tradition or legend of
any kind connected with it, is still as wild, as lovely, as perfect in
its lonely charm as if it were consecrated and set apart to the memory
of a score of old romances.

At the lower end, in an open space of slightly rising ground, there is
an ancient farmhouse which has been extended and piazzaed and made into
a rustic place of entertainment. Here the fashionable summer-folk of
the various harbours come to drink afternoon tea and to eat famous
dinners of broiled chicken, baked potatoes, and pop-overs. The
proprietor has learned from the modern author and advertiser the secret
of success; avoid versatility and stick to the line in which the public
know you. Having won a reputation on pop-overs and chickens, he
continues to turn them out with diligence and fidelity, like
short-stories of a standard pattern.

I asked him if there was any fishing in the lake. He said that there
was plenty of fishing; but he said it in a tone which made me doubtful
about his meaning. "What kind of fish were there?" "Trout by nature,
and landlocked salmon by artificial planting." "Could we fish for
them?" "Sure; but as for catching anything big enough to keep--well, he
did not want to encourage us. It was two or three years since any good
fish had been caught in the lake, though there had been plenty of
fishing. But in old times men used to come over from Hull's Cove,
fishing through the ice, and they caught"--then followed the usual
piscatorial legends of antiquity.

But the Gypsy girl and I were not to be disheartened by historical
comparisons. We insisted on putting our living luck to the proof, and
finding out for ourselves