earance with a shanty in the middle. A
well-made young fellow stood at the door. 'Lost your bearings, eh?' he
asked. 'Yes,' answered Allan, 'and glad you heard my yell.' He led us
into the shanty; the table was spread for supper and a man and woman
were seated ready to begin 'These two fellows are Scotties, new-come
out, and got wandered,' was our introduction. Responding to a hearty
invitation, seats were found and we helped to dispose of the dried
venison and bread that was on the board. 'Did you ever taste coffee like
that?' asked the woman as Allan passed in his tin for a second supply.
'That is bush-coffee and better than the storestuff. It is made from
dandelion roots and I will tell your folk how to make it.' They were
Americans and had led a wandering life, for the father was a trapper.
Game becoming scarce from growing settlement on the American side he had
crossed into Canada and had spent the last two winters round lake
Simcoe. 'There is no hunting after February' he said, 'for every critter
then begins nursing and the fur is not worth paying for, so we came
south and took this shanty, setting to work to make axhelves and
shingles, there being ready sale in Toronto. We move back to the lakes
in the Fall.' I asked him about the shanty. He replied that it was not
his nor did he know whose it was. 'Like enough some poor emigrant drew
the lot and after breaking his back with hard work in making a
clearance, found he could not pay the price and just lit out. You will
find deserted shanties everywhere in the bush left by families who lost
heart.' He showed much interest in our coming and we had difficulty in
getting him to recognize our location. It was not until I mentioned the
pond that he recognized the spot. 'Why, you aint much over a mile to
go.' When we were about to start the whole family got ready to go with
us. 'The sun won't set for an hour yet, and there is good moonlight,'
said Simmins, for that he told us was his name. 'Did you never get
lost?' I asked. 'That is a foolish question to ask of anybody born in
the woods for they never lose their sense of direction.' He advised me
to carry a compass and take its bearings in going and follow them in
returning. Suddenly Mrs Simmins burst into song. It was a hymn, sung in
a style I never heard before, but have since at many a campmeeting. Her
voice was strong, rising to a shriek at high notes. The husband and son
joined in, enjoying it as much as she did. In tel