  None of us awoke next morning till the sun was high and the dew all gone in the open places about the camp. The air was sweet with wild perfumes, and alive with birds and butterflies. It was near noon by the time we found ourselves afloat on the Toledi River. This is a larger stream than the Squatook, and much more violent. The “Toledi Falls” are less than half a mile from the lake, and most travellers “portage” around them rather than risk the difficult passage. Indeed, the mighty, plunging swells, the succession of leaps, the roar and tumult between those rocky walls, render the passage by no means enticing when looked at in cold blood. But we knew the channels, and were resolved to “run it.” It is no use attempting to tell just how we did it. I only know we all yelled with fierce delight as we darted into the gorge, and I imagine our eyes stuck out. Our muscles were like steel, and we tingled to the finger-tips. Then came a few wild moments when every man did his level best without knowing exactly how; for the white surges clashed deafeningly about us, and with cheers After supper we took a run through the village, and had a chat with some of the habitans. We procured, moreover, some native Madawaska tobacco—which we smoked once, and never smoked again. Around the fire that night we felt a sense of depression because our trip was drawing to an end. At last Magnus cried,— “Shake off this gloom, boys. A story, Stranion!” “All right; here’s something light and bright,” answered Stranion promptly. “Let us call it— ‘CHOPPING HIM DOWN.’“There is nothing that so cheers the heart of the lumberman as to play a practical joke on one whom he calls a ‘greenhorn,’ or, in other words, any one unused to the strange ways and flavor of the lumber-camps. As may be imagined, the practical jokes in vogue in such rough company are not remarkable for gentleness. One of the harshest and most dangerous, as well as most admired, is that known as ‘chopping him down.’ “This means, in a word, that the unsophisticated stranger in the camp is invited to climb a tall tree to take observations or enjoy a remarkable view. No sooner has he reached the top, than a couple of vigorous axemen attack the tree at its base, while the terrified stranger makes fierce haste to descend from his too lofty situation. Long before he can reach the ground the tree begins to topple. The men shout to him to get on the upper side, which he does with appalled alacrity; and with a mighty swish and crash down comes the tree. As a general rule, the heavy branches so break the shock that the victim, to his intense astonishment, finds himself uninjured; though frequently he is frightened out of a year’s growth. There are cases on record, however, where men have been crippled for life in this outrageous play; and in some cases the ‘boss’ of the camp forbids it. “But it is not only the greenhorn who is subject to this discipline of chopping down. Even veterans sometimes like to climb a tree and take a view beyond the forest; and sometimes, on a holiday or a Sunday, some contemplative woodsman will take refuge in a tree-top to think of his sweetheart, or else to eat a sheet of stolen gingerbread. If his retreat be discovered by his comrades, he is promptly chopped down with inextinguishable jeers. “I have mentioned stolen gingerbread. This bread is a favorite delicacy in the camps; and the cook who can make really good gingerbread is prized indeed. It is made in wide, thin, tough sheets; and while it is being served to the hands, some fellow occasionally succeeds in ‘hooking’ a whole sheet while the cook’s back is toward him. But in that same instant every man’s hand is turned against him. He darts into the woods, devouring huge mouthfuls as he runs. If he is very swift of foot he may escape, eat his spoils in retirement, and stroll back, an hour later, with a conscious air of triumph. More often he has to take to a tree. Instantly all hands rush to chop him down. He climbs no higher than is necessary, perches himself on a stout limb, and eats at his gingerbread for dear life. He knows just what position to take for safety; and often, ere the tree comes down, there is little gingerbread left to reward its captors. The meagre remnant is usually “At one time I knew a lumberman who succeeded in hiding his stolen gingerbread in his long boot-legs, and slept with the boots under his head for security. The camp was on the banks of a lake. The time of the capture of the gingerbread was a Saturday night in spring. Next morning the spoiler took possession of the one ‘bateau’ belonging to the camp, rowed out into the lake beyond the reach of stones and snowballs, and then calmly fished the gingerbread out of his boots. Sitting at ease in the bateau, he devoured his dainty with the utmost deliberation, while his chagrined comrades could only guy him from the shore. “For myself, I was chopped down once, and once only. It happened in this way. In the midwinter of 1879 I had occasion to visit the chief camp on the Little Madawaska. Coming from the city, and to a camp where I was a stranger to all the men, I was not unnaturally regarded as a pronounced specimen of the greenhorn. I took no pains to tell any one what the boss already well knew; that is, that I had been a frequenter of the camps from my boyhood. Many and many a neat trap was laid for my apparently ‘tender’ feet, but I avoided them all as if by accident. As for climbing a tree, I always laughed at the idea “At last the day came when I did wish to climb a tree. The camp was on a high plateau, and not far off towered a magnificent pine-tree, growing out of the summit of a knoll in such a way as to command all the surrounding country. Its branches were phenomenally thick; its girth of trunk was magnificent. And this tree I resolved one day to climb, in order to get a clear idea of the lay of the land. Of course I strolled off surreptitiously, and, as I thought, unwatched. But there I was much mistaken. No sooner was I two-thirds of the way up the tree than, with shouts of laughter, the lumbermen rushed out of the surrounding cover, and proceeded to chop me down. The chance was too good for them to lose. “I concealed my annoyance, and made no attempt to descend. On the contrary, I thanked them for the little attention, and climbed a few feet farther up, to secure a position which I saw would be a safe one for me when the tree should fall. As I did so, I perceived, with a gasp and a tremor, that I was not alone in the tree. “There, not ten feet above me, stretched at full length along a large branch, was a huge panther, glaring with rage and terror. From the men below his form was quite concealed. Glancing restlessly from me to my pursuers, the brute seemed uncertain just what to do. As I carefully refrained from climbing any farther up, and tried to assume an air of not having observed him, he apparently concluded that I was not his worst enemy. In fact, I dare say he understood what was going on, and realized that he and I were fellow-sufferers. “I laughed softly to myself as I thought how my tormentors would be taken aback when that panther should come down among them. I decided that, considering their numbers, there would be at least no more danger for them than that to which they were exposing me in their reckless fooling. And, already influenced by that touch of nature which makes us so wondrous kind, I began to hope that the panther would succeed in escaping. “The trunk of the pine was so thick that I might almost have reached the ground before the choppers could cut it through. At last it gave a mighty shudder and sagged to one side. I balanced myself nimbly on the upper side, steadying myself by a convenient branch. The great mass of foliage, presenting a wide surface to the air, made the fall a comparatively slow one; but the tremendous sweep of the draught upward, as the “The next instant there was another roar, or rather a sort of screaming yell, overwhelming the riotous laughter of the woodsmen; and out of the confusion of pine-boughs shot the tawny form of the panther in a whirlwind of fury. One of the choppers was in his path, and was bowled over like a clumsy ninepin. The next bound brought the beast onto the backs of a yoke of oxen, and his cruel claws severely scratched their necks. As the poor animals bellowed and fell on their knees, the panther paused, with some idea, apparently, of fighting the whole assembled party. But as the men, recovered from their first amazement, rushed with their axes to the rescue of the oxen, the panther saw that the odds were all against him. He turned half round, and greeted his enemies with one terrific and strident snarl, then bounded off into the forest at a pace which made it idle to pursue him. The owner of the oxen hurled an axe after him, but the missile flew wide of its mark. As the excitement subsided, and I saw that the chopper who had been knocked over was none the worse for his tumble, I chaffed my tormentors unmercifully. For their part they had no answer “Here goes for another lumberman’s yarn,” began Sam, when Stranion ceased. “It’s brief, so bear with it. ‘A RUDE AWAKENING.’“In the fir-woods of the Upper Bartibogue the snow was softening rapidly. The spring thaws had come on several weeks earlier than they were expected, consequently a great quantity of logs lay in the woods waiting to be hauled to the landing. The hands at Bober’s Camp were working with feverish energy, in the effort to get all their logs out before the snow roads should go utterly to pieces. Old Paul Bober, the boss of the camp, had sent out to all the surrounding settlements for extra teams. “The first result of his efforts was a team of wild young steers, which seemed hardly more than half-broken to the yoke. They were as long and gaunt as their driver, long Jim Baizley; but they looked equal to any amount of hard work. “‘Them critters of yourn ain’t much to look at, Jim,’ remarked the boss, as Baizley came ‘geeing’ and ‘hawing’ them into camp toward sundown. “The steers swung their hindquarters far apart, and sagged restively on the yoke, as they came to a halt. The teamster rolled a loving eye upon them, and replied,— “‘Jest wait till they git yankin’ onto the logs, an’ then see what you think of ’em!’ “Jim Baizley was a smart teamster; and on the following morning, with his heart set on showing off his team to the best advantage, he was the first to get to work hauling. The snow was getting softer and softer, a warm wind having blown all night so that there had been no chance for it to stiffen up. This heightened the general anxiety; and there was no time lost in following Baizley to ‘the Ridge,’ a patch of sloping forest where a lot of fine timber lay waiting to be hauled out. “From the Ridge to the Landing it was necessary to take a new road, which had been already roughly chopped out. As Baizley with his lean cattle started out for the Landing with a couple of huge timbers chained together behind them, “‘Look out for slumps, Jim!’ cried the chopper. ‘This here snow hain’t got no kind of a bottom to it now!’ “Baizley rolled his eyes over the stretch of track before him, which his load was soon to plough into picturesque disorder. With a thoughtful gesture, and very deliberately, he spit a huge quantity of tobacco-juice over the dull-white, soggy surface just in front of the oxen, and then said,— “‘I’ll look out. Gimme a peevy!’ “Grasping the long white pole, shod with a steel spike at the larger end, he started his team toward the Landing. Instead of walking beside his cattle, in the teamster’s customary place, he travelled a few feet in front of their noses; and from time to time he thrust the pike-pole sharply into the snow. “It must be borne in mind that the snow in these north shore woods lies anywhere from two to five feet deep. Under such a covering may lie concealed, not only the firm forest floor, but dangerous bog-holes, or steep little dry gullies. Hence the wise precaution which Baizley took of feeling the way for his oxen. The lack of such precaution has cost many a careless lumberman his team. “In the present case, however,—so perverse a witch is chance,—Baizley’s very prudence was the “Close behind Baizley’s team came another, driven by Tamin Landry, a little Frenchman from down the river. Tamang, as the Frenchman was called by his comrades, had great confidence in Baizley’s skill as a guide. He felt it safe to take his team wherever Baizley should take his. “Presently Baizley’s pike-pole sank deeply into the snow with sudden and suspicious ease. “‘Whoa-oa-o!’ he yelled, rolling his eyes back upon the steers. “The team surged forward till they were almost upon him, and he rapped them sharply across the muzzles. Then they stopped, with their heads far down. “‘W’at ze matter?’ inquired Tamang, skipping forward. “‘Big hole here!’ responded Baizley. He was prodding the snow near the trunk of a mighty tree. “‘Solid ground furder this way, likely!’ he continued; and he gave a vicious prod some two feet farther out from the tree. “The result was something to startle even a backwoodsman. The snowy surface rose up suddenly, with a spluttering, grunting noise, as if an infant volcano were about breaking into eruption. “Almost thrown off his feet, Baizley sprang to one side, while the excitable Tamang jumped into the air with a yell of astonishment. The yoke of steers swerved wildly to one side, and would have run away but for their heavy load. Then there emerged from the snow the hugest and hollowest of black bears, his long fur thickly blotched with lumps of his white covering. “Thus painfully and unceremoniously aroused from his winter sleep, the bear was in a thoroughly justifiable rage. Perhaps also the pangs of unrealized hunger added to his fury. He glanced with small red eyes from side to side, then flung himself clumsily but swiftly upon the nearest ox. “With mad bellowing the team plunged in among the trees; and in their terror so great was their strength, that the great timbers they were hauling danced after them like jackstraws. But this was not for long. Ere they had gone ten yards from the road, the ox which the bear had struck, blind with panic, caught his long horns in a sapling, and fell forward on his knees. For a moment his yoke-fellow held him up, then he collapsed in a limp red-and-white heap, with his neck broken. And the bear began tearing at him savagely. “Paralyzed and helpless, the other steer sank in the snow. By this time, however, Baizley and the Frenchman had recovered their scattered wits and seized their axes. Baizley’s eyes rolled wildly, “At least, that was Baizley’s amiable intention; but any one who has tried to hit a bear over the head with an axe knows how difficult a feat it is to accomplish, unless the bear is asleep. This bear was very wide-awake indeed; Baizley’s pike-pole had seen to that! “Though apparently engrossed with the dead steer, he had been watching his assailants out of the corner of his eye. Just as the great axe began its deadly descent, the beast half rose, and like a flash threw up his mighty forearm. On this the axe-handle struck and glanced, and the weapon flew violently off among the trees. “With a desperate exclamation Baizley attempted to jump away; and at the same moment the bear brought down his other paw with a stroke that all Baizley’s tried skill as a boxer would not have availed to parry. But fortunately for the tall lumberman, his footing gave way. He fell headlong in the snow, and the stroke of that armed paw passed harmlessly over him. “The bear dropped forward upon him, but was at once distracted by a fierce blow on the shoulder from Landry’s axe. With a snort he turned about, and gave chase to the nimble little Frenchman. “Tamang came leaping Past with the Bear at His Heels.”—Page 303. “Now, this was in all respects a most fortunate diversion. Tamang was so light of foot that the snow easily upbore him. He found himself able, without difficulty, to elude his floundering pursuer. He took a short circuit among the trees, and headed back toward the team. “Baizley was now on his feet, and himself again. He was running to pick up his axe, when Tamang yelled, ‘No! No! Spear him, spear him wid ze peevy, Jeem! Spear him wid ze peevy!’ “It was a good idea, and Baizley realized the force of it. The steel-shod pike-pole was indeed a formidable weapon. Grasping it short in both hands, Baizley sprang upon the logs of his ill-fated load, and a second later Tamang came leaping past with the bear at his heels. “In an instant the plucky Frenchman turned and faced his pursuer. The bear rose on his hind legs to seize him, and Baizley’s opportunity had arrived. With all his force he drove the point of the pike-pole into the brute’s body, right under the foreshoulder. “Down came the huge arm, snapping the tough pole like a splinter; but the steel point had gone home. The bear fell dead, close beside the dead ox. “Whilst Tamang, with voluble excitement, examined the two victims of Baizley’s wise precautions, the latter with taciturn deliberation proceeded to unyoke the trembling steer from its ill-starred mate. But from the way his eyes rolled in their lean sockets, it was easy to see that the “Now, then, Magnus,” cried Queerman, “we look to you. Will it be more about the lumber-camps?” “No,” replied Magnus; “I shall introduce a beast of whom none of you have yet said a word. Yet he is an important beast, and played no small part in preparing the land of Canaan for the advent of the children of Israel. My story is— ‘SAVED BY A HORNET’S NEST.’“I got the story just a few weeks ago, when I was out fishing on the Rushagornish with Dick Henderson. Near the shore we came upon a huge hornets’ nest suspended beneath a bush. Swayed by the common impulse of destructiveness, I suggested that we should set fire to the nest. “‘No, indeed,’ said Dick. ‘If we attack the nest we deserve to get stung. Mr. Yellow Jacket is a self-respecting citizen, and will not trouble you unless you wantonly interfere with him. If he resents aggression fiercely, we cannot blame him for that, can we? Besides, a hornets’ nest is held sacred among us Hendersons.’ “‘You don’t mean to confess,’ I exclaimed, ‘that it symbolizes the spirit and temper of your family?’ “‘Not exactly,’ replied Dick. ‘But it certainly preserved the connection between flesh and spirit for our family at a very critical moment. My Grandfather Henderson owed his life to a nest of hornets at a time when he, a young man of twenty-two, was the sole representative of his line.’ “The trout were not rising, and the rapidly heating air persuaded to indolence. I stood my rod up in a bush, threw myself down in a shady spot, and remarked to Dick that he might as well tell me about his grandfather. This invitation elicited the following curious story:— “It was during the war of 1812. The battles of Chrysler’s Farm and Chateauguay had not yet been fought, and the Canadians were in doubt as to the movements of the two American armies which were preparing to attack Montreal. They knew that General Wilkinson was at Sackett’s Harbor, making ready to descend the St. Lawrence; but in regard to General Hampton, who was advancing by way of Lake Champlain, information was much in demand. “My grandfather, James Henderson, who knew the country between the St. Lawrence and Lake Champlain, volunteered to get the information. He had many friends on the American side of the line, most of whom, as he knew, heartily disapproved of this unnecessary struggle between the “With a ragged-looking horse and a shabby pedler’s wagon, and himself skilfully made up for the rÔle of a country hawker, he was comparatively secure from recognition. Indeed, I have heard him boast that he made sales to some of his most intimate acquaintances, who never for an instant dreamed that it was Jim Henderson whom they were haggling with. “All went prosperously until the very end of the adventure drew near. My grandfather was returning with the important information that Hampton’s objective point was the mouth of the Chateauguay River, whence he would cross the St. Lawrence, and descend upon Montreal from Lachine. “At Smith’s Corners, a little rudimentary village about ten miles from the Canadian border, my grandfather stopped for a bite of dinner. “Jake Smith, the landlord of the little inn, was a trusted friend; and to him my grandfather revealed himself in obedience to a sudden impulse. It was the first time on the whole journey that he had given the slightest clew to his true personality. Well for him that he yielded to this impulse, else even the friendly hornets’ nest, to “Jake Smith was a stirring fellow, who under ordinary circumstances would have liked nothing better than running a spy to earth; but when that spy was Jim Henderson, the case was different. “My grandfather had stood his horse and wagon in on the spacious barn floor, and was having a wash in a little bedroom opening off the kitchen. The bedroom door was partly closed. “Suddenly, through the crack of the door, he caught sight of a small party of American militiamen, at whose heels followed two huge brindled mastiffs, or part mastiffs, probably a cross between mastiff and bloodhound. Henderson, confident in his disguise, was just slipping on his coat with the idea of going out and speaking to the soldiers, when the leader’s voice, addressing the landlord at the kitchen door, arrested him. “‘Where’s that pedler chap that drove in here a few minutes ago?’ inquired the officer, puzzled at seeing no sign of the wagon. “‘What do you want of him?’ inquired the landlord with an air of interest. “‘We’ll show you presently!’ said the officer. ‘And we’ll want you, too, if we catch you trying to shelter a spy! Where is he?’ “‘I don’t shelter no spies,’ growled Jake Smith ambiguously; ‘and I’d advise you to keep your jaw for your own men!” “The officer was about to make an angry reply, but changed his mind. “‘That pedler,’ said he firmly, ‘is a spy; and it is your duty to assist in his capture. Is he in this house?’ “Now, Smith knew better than to try to persuade the soldiers that Henderson had driven away. He saw they had certain knowledge of the spy’s presence. So he exclaimed:— “‘A spy, is he? Well, I reckon you’ve about got him, then. He’s drove his team in on the barn floor, out of the sun, and most likely’—but the whole squad were off for the barn. “‘To the woods! The cave!’ hissed Smith toward the little bedroom; and at the same instant my grandfather darted from the window, down behind the tall rows of pole-beans and a leafy bed of artichokes, and gained the cover of the woods which touched on the rear edge of the garden. “He ran with desperate speed, following at first a well-beaten cattle-path that led straight into the woods. But he had small hope of escape. It was the glimpse he had got of those two great dogs that filled his soul with dismay. “For the troops alone he would have cared little. He knew he could outrun most men, and the forest afforded innumerable hiding-places. But those dogs! With no weapon but his sheath-knife, he could hardly hope to overcome them without being himself disabled; and if he were to take “My grandfather concluded, however, that his only chance for escape lay in fighting the dogs. If he could kill them before the soldiers came up, he might possibly get away. “But to make the most of this poor chance he must get deep into the woods, and lead the dogs a long distance ahead of the troops. “He understood the sound tactics of dividing the enemy’s forces. He tightened his belt and ran on, snatching up by the way a stout stick which some one had intended for a cane. “The cave of which Smith had spoken lay about three miles from the village. After following the cattle-path for perhaps half a mile, my grandfather turned a little to the right and plunged into the trackless forest. His long, nimble legs carried him swiftly over the innumerable obstructions of the forest floor. “His ears were strained anxiously to catch the first deep baying that would tell him the dogs were on his scent. Every minute that the dreadful voices delayed was an addition to his little stock of hopes. If only he could reach the cave, his chances of victory over the dogs would be much increased; for the entrance to it was so small that only one of his assailants would be able to get in at a time. “At last, when he had run about two miles, his breath failed him. He threw himself flat on his face on a bit of mossy ground beside a brook. As he lay there gasping, his mouth open, his eyes shut, suddenly along the resonant ground were borne to his ears the voices of the dogs. “When he sprang to his feet he could no longer hear them; but he knew he must gain more time. Jumping into the brook he ran several hundred yards up-stream; then, seizing a long, overhanging branch, he swung himself well ashore, some ten feet clear of the bank. “As he once more headed for the cave, he flattered himself, not without reason, that the dogs would lose some time before they picked up his scent again. “The baying of the pursuers soon came near enough to be distinctly heard, and then grew in volume rapidly. At last it stopped; and he knew the dogs had reached the brook, and were hunting for the scent. Before that sinister music rose again on the stillness of the wilderness air, Henderson came in sight of the hillside wherein the cave lay hidden. “Just as he was congratulating himself that he had now a good chance of escape, a thought occurred to him that dashed his hopes. ‘Why,’ said he to himself, ‘the dogs would most likely refuse to enter the cave!’ Seeing the smallness of the entrance, they would no doubt stay baying outside, “However, he decided to risk it. He could, at least, block the entrance with stones, and make some sort of fight at the last; or even there might be some other exit,—some fissure in the hill which he had never explored. At any rate, he was too much exhausted to run any farther. “As he approached the low opening in the hillside a lot of hornets darted past his ears. Having a dread of hornets he glanced about nervously, and imagined at first they were denizens of his cave. But in a moment he saw the nest. “It was an immense gray globular structure, hanging from the branch of a small fir-tree, at a height of about two feet from the ground. It was not more than five or six feet from the cave, and almost directly in front of it. “Henderson was a man of resources; and he appreciated the fighting prowess of a well-stirred colony of hornets. He decided to enlist the colony in his defence. “The hornets were taking no notice of him whatever, being intent on business of their own. Henderson took a long piece of string from his trousers pocket, and in the most delicate fashion possible made one end fast to the branch which supported the nest. Then, lying down flat on his face, he squirmed softly past without getting into collision with the insects, and crawled into the “Once safely inside, his first care was to grope around for a big stone or two. These he soon procured, and with their aid the entrance was blocked. Then he took off his coat. “He laid his ear to the crevices in his barricade. The dogs were getting so near that he could hear now the crashing of their heavy forms as they bounded through the underbrush. “Holding his coat ready to stop up, if necessary, the small openings he had left for observation, he began jerking sharply on the string which connected him with the hornets’ nest. “He could hear the furious buzzing which instantly arose as the hornets swarmed forth to resent the disturbance. He could see how the air grew yellow all about the nest. But it did not occur to the angry insects to seek for their disturber in the cave. “Henderson jerked again and yet again, and the enraged swarm grew thicker. “At this moment the dogs came into view. Very deadly and inexorable they looked as they bounded along, heads low down, their dark, muscular bodies dashing the branches aside and bearing down the undergrowth. “Now, realizing perhaps that they had run their prey to earth, they raised their heads and barked, in a tone very different from that of their baying. Unfalteringly they dashed straight upon the barricade; and one of them, as he sprang past, struck the nest a ruder shock than any that my grandfather’s string had been able to give it. Saved by a Hornets’ Nest.—Page 313. “In that same instant the exasperated hornets were upon the dogs. A sharp chorus arose of angry and frightened yelpings. Yet for a few seconds the brave brutes persisted in their efforts to force an entrance to my grandfather’s retreat. This gave the hornets a fair chance. “They settled upon the animals’ eyes and ears and jaws, till flesh and blood—even dog flesh and blood—could endure the fiery anguish no longer. Both dogs rolled over and over, burrowing their noses in the moss, and trying with their paws to scrape off their bitter assailants. But the contest was too unequal. “Presently both dogs stuck their tails between their legs, and darted off in mad panic through the woods. Gradually their yelpings died away. “My grandfather then and there registered a vow that he would never again break up a hornets’ nest. He slackened the string till it lay loose and inconspicuous amid the moss, but he did not exactly care to go out and detach it from the branch. “Then he lay down and rested, feeling pretty confident that the soldiers would not find their way to his retreat now that they were deprived of the assistance of the dogs. As for the dogs, he “That night, when he felt quite sure the hornets had gone to bed, my grandfather crept out of his refuge, stole softly past his little protectors without disturbing them to say farewell, and struck across the forest in the direction of the Canadian border. A little later the moon got up, and by her light he made good progress. “Soon after daybreak he reached the banks of the Chateauguay, and about an hour later he fell in with a scouting-party of the Glengarry Fencibles, who took him to the headquarters of De Salaberry, the Canadian commander. As for the ragged old horse and the pedler’s wagon, they remained at Smith’s Corners, a keepsake for Jake Smith.” “I think,” said Ranolf, “that’s a good enough yarn to go to bed on. I’m as sleepy as a June-bug.” Upon this we all discovered that we were in the same condition as Ranolf. The exhilaration of the run down the Toledi, and the hard strain of the passage across Temiscouata, had tired us through and through. How delicious were our blankets that night at DÉtour du Lac! |
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