If it had not been for the game shot in the woods and the abundance of bass and pickerel caught in the bay, provisions would have been scarce at the new fort before summer opened. The heavy stock brought overland during the long march had served them well, but it was drawing near to an end, and all awaited with interest, not to say anxiety, the return of the messengers from York. When they did come, they reported that the trail was open for pack horses, and that supplies already purchased would soon be on the way.

In the meantime progress went on in the little settlement. The soldiers' quarters were completed and made comfortable; the pile-driving for the prospective bridge was finished, and even the stone walls of the new fort were in progress of erection. In agriculture something had also been done, for Indian corn and potatoes were growing well in the habitants' clearings.

What little they heard of the progress of the war was satisfactory, and during the long, bright evenings, the day's work being done, the stringency of discipline was often relaxed. Then officers and men, with the exception of those on duty, would give themselves up to relaxation and pleasure.

Canoes had been purchased from the Indians, and swimming in the bay, as well as spinning over its waters, soon became of nightly occurrence, and none among the men enjoyed the sport better than Harold. So one evening, when the woods were green, he took Helen for their first long paddle. Captain Cummings and the Chaplain occupied a second canoe, while Sir George and Captain Payne enjoyed a quiet smoke as they strolled along the shore. The two birch-barks struck out past the northern end of the island and paddled abreast toward the mouth of the harbor. In the west the sun was setting in a golden flame behind the trees, while above them the blue vault was dotted with little grey clouds, fretted with spangles of silver. Scarcely a ripple disturbed the lake. Now and then a white gull flew from side to side, and a sportive pickerel splashed the water as he rose above the surface.

In a little while, Lieutenant Smith and the Doctor joined them, paddling over from the opposite shore. They had been hunting for partridge.

"What success?" called out Harold.

"Only two brace," was the answer.

"Why not come with us for an hour's run?"

"All right," and they dropped to the opposite side of Harold's canoe.

"What a solitary outlook!" said Helen, casting her eye from shore to shore. "Not another boat to be seen, and on land nothing but woods."

"It's a mighty picturesque spot, though," said the Chaplain, who was using his paddle a few yards to the right. "It is like the sea of glass spoken of in Revelations, reflecting the sky of the Orient."

"Or like the paradise of the houries," cried Captain Cummings, "where the wood nymphs bathe in the lake and bask in the golden sunlight."

"It is the promise of a fertile country," said Lieutenant Smith, "which needs the woodsman's axe to clear it, and the toil of the settler to cover it with happy homes."

"Yes, and to make it yield its thirty, sixty and a hundred fold," echoed the Chaplain.

"Mon Dieu! but you are all wrong," exclaimed Beaumont, taking off his hat and shaking his curly head. "It is just the forest of Penetang, where the Iroquois and Hurons fought for ages, and where the Jesuits of my people shed their life's blood and died among a race of unbelievers."

"That means, Doctor, that it resembles itself," chimed in Helen, with a laugh. "You are echoing ancient history—I would say it is like a Quaker's hood, the water is the face of the wearer, the tall trees all round it are the edge of the bonnet, the mouth of the harbor is the chin, and the little islands beyond are the untied strings."

A general laugh followed.

"Bravo!" shouted Cummings. "But what are you going to do with my nymphs in your Quaker bonnet?"

"Put them behind the island where they cannot be seen," was her answer.

"There are nymphs there already," cried the Doctor, "but instead of behind the island, they are in front of it."

And, glancing back, they could see the Indian women bathing.

"I suppose the time will soon come when this little harbor will have ships on it," said Helen, to change the subject.

"Yes," returned Harold. "Sir George brought instructions with him from England to build here the first brig."

"And when will he commence?"

"As soon as a saw mill can be built—not long to wait."

"So there are lots of things in store for us, Mrs. Manning," put in the Chaplain, with a laugh, "even if we have taken up our abode in a wooden country."

"Not a wooden country, Mr. Evans, but a country of woods."

"And pray, what is the difference?"

"As much difference as there is between a horse chestnut and a chestnut horse."

Again a ringing laugh was carried far out over the waters.

"We men should always have you with us, Mrs. Manning, to keep away the blues!" exclaimed the Chaplain, "and to that end I am just praying for that castle of ours to be speedily finished."

"One would think," returned Helen, elevating her eyebrows, "when the builders work so hard, that the castle does not need your prayers. Would it not be better to pray for the arrival of a lady companion for the only lady in the camp, lest she might get the blues?"

"That's what I say," cried the Doctor, energetically. "It's a deuced shame to have Madame alone at the fort without a single lady friend, and the sooner we secure a suitable companion for her the better."

"Rather rough on you, Manning!" exclaimed Cummings, serenely.

"'Pon my word, Doctor, I'll have to call you out, even if you are a Frenchman," said Harold, with a laugh.

"You know what I mean," returned the young man, his face flushing. "It was a Frenchman's thought. I cannot think fast in English, you know."

"Worse and worse!" exclaimed Cummings, with a laugh.

Harold bit his lip.

"How pretty that sunset is, with its deep golden yellow, so different from England!" said Helen, who did her best to repress a sigh. With all these men around her, even with her husband by her side, she was still alone.

"Yes, and with forest and lake, and sky and island, there is a fascinating beauty."

"The Indians say that to the north and west throughout the Georgian Bay the islands are like the leaves of the forest, they cannot be counted," Smith remarked.

"Still new fields to conquer," added Harold.

"New beauties to explore," said the Chaplain.

The canoes had almost reached the "glittering sands" to the right of the mouth of the harbor. The sun had set, and the gloaming was coming upon them with the placid stillness of a summer night.

"Suppose we return," suggested Helen. "It will be dark by the time we reach the shore."

"Paddle gently," ejaculated Smith in a low voice. "Let us wait a bit. You see those bushes beyond the sandy beach. Three deer come down there every evening to water—a buck with growing antlers and two does. If you sit still and do not speak they will not notice you. The Doctor and I will creep up a little nearer."

Smith, who was the crack shot of the party, picked up his rifle, while Beaumont, the skilled canoeist, paddled noiselessly toward the shore. The former had only time to creep under cover of the bushes to a spot where an open view could be obtained, when the deer, with heads erect and led by the stag, marched slowly down to the water's edge.

Not a paddle of the watchers moved, and scarcely a muscle. Beaumont sat in his canoe grounded on the beach, with eyes fixed on the deer, for he could just discern them beyond a stretch of sand. But Smith was invisible. A few moments of silence and suspense. . . with head bent forward the stag waded into the water, a doe on either side. Bang! went the rifle. The stag reared and fell forward with a splash. Quick as lightning his mates turned and fled to the woods, while a cheer rang out from the men in the canoes, as they paddled over to the spot.

"It was pitiful to see the poor does," said Helen, sensitively.

"But it was a capital shot," returned Harold. "I was doubtful if Smith could do it in the gathering darkness. It will make a good addition to our vanishing larder."

When they drew near Beaumont and Smith had dragged the handsome buck further on to the beach.

"Will it be safe to leave him here until the men come for him?" Smith asked, as he received the congratulations.

"I doubt it," said Beaumont. "Hark! yonder are wolves howling already. They must be hungry to be out so soon."

"The buck is too heavy to take in our canoe," said Smith, "unless the Doctor, the lighter man, can return in one of yours."

"Have him come with us," said Helen, turning to Harold.

"Certainly," was his answer. "There will be no danger with such a perfect canoeist."

In a few more minutes they were paddling homeward. The half-moon was hovering directly above them, and its sheen glowed in silvery light upon the water.

"Give us a French boat song, Doctor," said the Chaplain, who knew that he had a rich tenor voice.

"Not before miladi," was his answer. "If Madame will favor us first, I will follow."

"What will you have?" said Helen.

"A song of the chase or a boat song, we don't care which," said Smith.

"Well," replied Helen, with a smile at the ardor of the men. "If you can imagine it is morning instead of evening, perhaps Scott's 'Hunting Song' will do."

The paddles almost ceased plying, and in the still night, her sweet contralto voice filled the air from shore to shore.

Sweetly the echoes died away over the water, thanks of appreciation were murmured, and they were calling upon Beaumont to fulfil his promise when another song was wafted from the shore towards them.

"Why, that's Bateese," cried the Doctor. "He can sing better than I can. Listen to him to-night, mine will keep for another day."

"Hearken!" whispered Helen. "How quaint it is!"

The last verse almost took Helen's breath away, and, forgetting all about Beaumont's song, she bade the officers good-night, and with Harold hastened on shore to their own dwelling.