splash! and the salmon is lifted upon the shore. How he flounces
about on the stones. Give him the coup de grace at once, for his own
sake as well as for ours. And now look at him, as he lies there on the
green leaves. Broad back; small head tapering to a point; clean, shining
sides with a few black spots on them; it is a fish fresh-run from the
sea, in perfect condition, and that is the reason why he has given such
good sport.

We must try for another before we go back. Again fortune favours us, and
at eleven o'clock we pole up the river to the camp with two good
salmon in the canoe. Hardly have we laid them away in the ice-box, when
Favonius comes dropping down from Patapedia with three fish, one of them
a twenty-four pounder. And so the morning's work is done.

In the evening, after dinner, it was our custom to sit out on the
deck, watching the moonlight as it fell softly over the black hills
and changed the river into a pale flood of rolling gold. The fragrant
wreaths of smoke floated lazily away on the faint breeze of night. There
was no sound save the rushing of the water and the crackling of the
camp-fire on the shore. We talked of many things in the heavens above,
and the earth beneath, and the waters under the earth; touching lightly
here and there as the spirit of vagrant converse led us. Favonius has
the good sense to talk about himself occasionally and tell his
own experience. The man who will not do that must always be a dull
companion. Modest egoism is the salt of conversation: you do not want
too much of it; but if it is altogether omitted, everything tastes flat.
I remember well the evening when he told me the story of the Sheep of
the Wilderness.

"I was ill that summer," said he, "and the doctor had ordered me to go
into the woods, but on no account to go without plenty of fresh meat,
which was essential to my recovery. So we set out into the wild country
north of Georgian Bay, taking a live sheep with us in order to be sure
that the doctor's prescription might be faithfully followed. It was a
young and innocent little beast, curling itself up at my feet in the
canoe, and following me about on shore like a dog. I gathered grass
every day to feed it, and carried it in my arms over the rough portages.
It ate out of my hand and rubbed its woolly head against my leggings. To
my dismay, I found that I was beginning to love it for its own sake
and without any ulterior motives. The thought of killing and e