ellers had a pistol, and so----"

Beyond a doubt it was so, always has been so, and always will be
so--just so, on every river travelled by canoes, until the end of time.
The sportsman travels through a happy interval between memories of
failure and expectation of success. But the river and the wind in the
trees sing to him by the way, and there are wild flowers along the
banks, and every turn in the stream makes a new picture of beauty. Thus
we came leisurely and peacefully to the place where the river issued
from the lake; and here we must fish awhile, for it was reported that
the landlocked salmon lay in the narrow channel just above the dam.

Sure enough, no sooner had the fly crossed the current than there was a
rise; and at the second cast a pretty salmon of two and a half pounds
was hooked, played, and landed. Three more were taken, of which the boy
got two--and his were the biggest. Fish know nothing of the respect
due to age. They leaped well, those little salmon, flashing clean out
of the water again and again with silvery gleams. But on the whole
they did not play as strongly nor as long as their brethren (called
_ouananiche_,) in the wild rapids where the Upper Saguenay breaks from
Lake St. John. The same fish are always more lively, powerful, and
enduring when they live in swift water, battling with the current, than
when they vegetate in the quiet depths of a lake. But if a salmon must
live in a luxurious home of that kind, Nicatous is a good one, for the
water is clear, the shores are clean, the islands plenty, and the bays
deep and winding.

At the club-house, six miles up the lake, where we arrived at
candle-lighting, we found such kindly welcome and good company that we
tarried for three days in that woodland Capua, discussing the further
course of our expedition. Everybody was willing to lend us aid and
comfort. The sociable hermit who had summered for the last twenty years
in his tiny cabin on the point gave us friendly counsel and excellent
large blueberries. The matron provided us with daily bags of most
delicate tea, a precaution against the native habit of "squatting" the
leaves--that is, boiling and squeezing them to extract the tannin. The
little lady called Katharyne (a fearless forest-maid who roamed the
woods in leathern jacket and short blue skirt, followed by an enormous
and admiring guide, and caught big fish everywhere) offered to lend us
anything in her outfit, from a pack-basket to a