spruce and fir trees. The weather had cleared and the heavens were
bright with stars when we drew our canoe high upon the boulder-strewn
shore, clear of the breaking waves. The few small trout we had caught
we stowed away in the bow of the canoe, as they were to be reserved for
breakfast.

Early in the morning (September 12th) we were awakened by a northeast
gale that threatened every moment to carry our tent from its
fastenings, and as we peered out through the flaps, rain and snow
dashed in our faces. The wind also was playing high jinks with the
lake; it was white with foam, and the waves, dashing against the rocks
on the shore, threw the spray high in the air. Evidently there was no
hope of launching the canoe that day, and assuming indifference of the
driving storm that threatened to uncover us, we settled down for a
much-needed morning sleep. At ten o'clock George crawled out to build
a fire in the lee of some bushes and boil trout for a light breakfast.
Soon he stuck his head in the tent, and his face told us something had
happened even before he said:

"Well, that's too bad."

"What's too bad?" asked Hubbard anxiously.

"Somebody's stole the trout we left in the canoe."

"Who?" asked Hubbard and I together.

"Otter or somebody--maybe a marten." (George always referred to
animals as persons.)

We all went again to look and make sure the fish were not there
somewhere; but they were really gone, and we looked at one another and
laughed, and continued to make light of it as we ate a breakfast of
soup made of three little slices of bacon, with two or three spoonfuls
of flour and rice.

We occupied the day in talking--visiting, Hubbard called it--and
mending. Hubbard made a handsome pair of moccasins, using an old flour
sack for the uppers and a pair of skin mittens for the feet. George did
some neat work on his moccasins and clothing, and I made my trousers
look quite respectable again, and ripped up one pair of woollen socks
to get yarn to darn the holes in another. Altogether it was rather a
pleasant day, even though Hubbard's display of his beautiful new
moccasins did savour of ostentation and thereby excite much
heartburning on the part of George and me.

Our second day on the island was Sunday, September 13th. We awoke to
find that the wind, rain, and sleet were still with us. Our breakfast
was the same as all our meals of the previous day--thin bacon soup.
The morning we spent in reading