to the bushes, through which they could
see without being seen.

"That trail is well hidden," said Willet, "or rather it's no trail at
all. It's just about as much trace as a bird leaves, flying through the
air."

"Do you know where we are, Dave?" asked Robert.

"We're not so far from the edge of the wilderness. Before long the land
will begin to slope down toward the St. Lawrence. But it's all wild
enough. The French settlements themselves don't go very far back from
the big river. And the St. Lawrence is a mighty stream, Robert. I reckon
there's not another such river on the globe. The Mississippi I suppose
is longer, and carries more volume to the sea, but the St. Lawrence is
full of clear water, Robert, think of that! Most all the other big
rivers of the world, I hear, are muddy and yellow, but the St. Lawrence,
being the overflow of the big lakes, is pure. Sometimes it's blue and
sometimes it's green, according to the sunlight or the lack of it, and
sometimes it's another color, but always it's good, fresh water, flowing
between mighty banks to the sea, the stream getting deeper and deeper
and broader and broader the farther it goes, till beyond Quebec it's
five and then ten miles across, and near the ocean it's nigh as wide as
Erie or Ontario. I'm always betting on the St. Lawrence, Robert. I
haven't been on all the other continents, but I don't believe they can
show anything to beat it."

"Have you seen much of the big lakes, Dave?"

"A lot of Erie and Ontario, but not so much of those farther west,
Michigan, Huron and Superior, although they're far bigger and grander.
Nothing like 'em in the lake line in this world. We don't know much
about Superior, but I gather from the Indians that it's nigh to four
hundred miles long, and maybe a hundred and fifty miles across in the
middle. What a power of water! That's not a lake! It's a fresh-water
sea. I've seen Niagara, too, Robert, where the river comes tumbling over
two mighty cliffs, and the foam rises up to the sky, and the rainbow is
always arching over the chasm below. It's a tremendous sight and it
keeps growing on you the longer you look at it. The Indians, who like
myths and allegories, have a fine story about it. They say that Heno, to
whom Manitou gave charge of the thunderbolt, once lived in the great
cave or hollow behind the falls, liking the damp and the eternal roar of
the waters. And Manitou to help him keep a watch over all the
thunderbolts gave