d the frost leaked out of the
ground, and the ice on the lake was honeycombed, breaking away from the
shore, and finally going to pieces altogether in a warm southeast storm,
the Sportsmen's Retreat began to prepare for business. There was a
garden to be planted, and there were boats to be painted. The rotten old
wharf in front of the house stood badly in need of repairs. The fiddler
proved himself a Jack-of-all-trades and master of more than one.

In the middle of May the anglers began to arrive at the Retreat--a
quiet, sociable, friendly set of men, most of whom were old-time
acquaintances, and familiar lovers of the woods. They belonged to the
"early Adirondack period," these disciples of Walton. They were not very
rich, and they did not put on much style, but they understood how to
have a good time; and what they did not know about fishing was not worth
knowing.

Jacques fitted into their scheme of life as a well-made reel fits the
butt of a good rod. He was a steady oarsman, a lucky fisherman, with a
real genius for the use of the landing-net, and a cheerful companion,
who did not insist upon giving his views about artificial flies and
advice about casting, on every occasion. By the end of June he found
himself in steady employment as a guide.

He liked best to go with the anglers who were not too energetic, but
were satisfied to fish for a few hours in the morning and again at
sunset, after a long rest in the middle of the afternoon. This was just
the time for the violin; and if Jacques had his way, he would take it
with him, carefully tucked away in its case in the bow of the boat; and
when the pipes were lit after lunch, on the shore of Round Island or
at the mouth of Cold Brook, he would discourse sweet music until the
declining sun drew near the tree-tops and the veery rang his silver
bell for vespers. Then it was time to fish again, and the flies danced
merrily over the water, and the great speckled trout leaped eagerly to
catch them. For trolling all day long for lake-trout Jacques had little
liking.

"Dat is not de sport," he would say, "to hol' one r-r-ope in de 'and,
an' den pool heem in wid one feesh on t'ree hook, h'all tangle h'up
in hees mout'--dat is not de sport. Bisside, dat leef not taim' for la
musique."

Midsummer brought a new set of guests to the Retreat, and filled the
ramshackle old house to overflowing. The fishing fell off, but there
were picnics and camping-parties in abundance, and