f the problems in which the voyager learns to know
something of the infinite reserve, the humorous subtlety, the
hide-and-seek quality in nature. Where is it--that mysterious outlet?
Behind yonder long point? Nothing here but a narrow arm of the lake. At
the end of this deep bay? Nothing here but a little brook flowing in.
At the back of the island? Nothing here but a landlocked lagoon. Must
we make the circuit of the whole shore before we find the way out? Stop
a moment. What are those two taller clumps of bushes on the edge of
this broad curving meadow--down there in the corner, do you see? Turn
back, go close to the shore, swing around the nearer clump, and here we
are in the smooth amber stream, slipping silently, furtively, down
through the meadow, as if it would steal away for a merry jest and
leave us going round and round the lake till nightfall.

Easily and swiftly the canoes slide along with the little river,
winding and doubling through the wide, wild field, travelling three
miles to gain one. The rushes nod and glisten around us; the bending
reeds whisper as we push between them, cutting across a point. Follow
the stream; we know not its course, but we know that if we go with it,
though it be a wayward and tricksy guide, it will bring us out--but not
too soon, we hope!

Here is a lumberman's dam, broad-based, solid, and ugly, a work of
infinite labour, standing lonely, deserted, here in the heart of the
wilderness. Now we must carry across it. But it shall help while it
hinders us. Pry up the creaking sluice-gates, sending a fresh head of
water down the channel along with us, lifting us over the shallows,
driving us on through the rocky places, buoyant, alert, and rejoicing,
till we come again to a level meadow, and the long, calm, indolent
reaches of river.

Look on the right there, under the bushes. There is a cold, still
brook, slipping into the lazy river; and there we must try the truth of
the tales we have heard of the plentiful trout of Machias. Let the
flies fall light by the mouth of the brook, caressing, inviting.
Nothing there? Then push the canoe through the interlaced alders,
quietly, slowly up the narrow stream, till a wider pool lies open
before you. Now let the rod swing high in the air, lifting the line
above the bushes, dropping the flies as far away as you can on the
dark-brown water. See how quickly the answer comes, in two swift golden
flashes out of the depths of the sleeping pool. T