rfere
with the clearness, and a faint zephyr which appears rather to emphasise
than break the calm. It sends a soft cat's-paw now and then across
parts of the lake, and thus, by contrast, brings into greater prominence
the bright reflection of trees and cloudland mirrored in its depths.
Instead of being the proverbial "dead" calm, it is, if we may so put it,
rather a lively, cheerful calm.

The liveliness of it is vastly increased by hundreds of water-fowl,
which disport themselves on the surface of the lake, as if coquetting
with their own reflections, or whistle round its margin while busy on
the feeding-grounds.

Myriads of mosquitoes were wont there to murmur their maddening career
in search of blood, but, happily, at the period we write of, an
incidental and premonitory night-frost had relegated these to the graves
of their forefathers, or to the mansions of Hiberna--we know not, and
care not, which.

We have styled the lake a "little" one, but we must remind the reader
that we use the expression in an American sense, and that where lakes
are two and three hundred miles long, a little one can well afford to be
twenty or thirty miles in diameter, with, perchance, a boundless
horizon. The lake in question, however, was really a little one--not
more than two miles in length or breadth, with the opposite shore quite
visible, and a number of islets of various sizes on its bosom--all more
or less wooded, and all, more rather than less, the temporary homes of
innumerable wild-fowl, among which were noisy little gulls with pure
white bodies and bright red legs and bills.

On the morning in question--for the sun was not yet much above the
horizon--a little birch-bark canoe might have been seen to glide
noiselessly from a bed of rushes, and proceed quietly, yet swiftly,
along the outer margin of the bed.

The bow-paddle was wielded by a stout boy with fair curly hair. Another
boy, of gentle mien and sickly aspect, sat in the stern and steered.

"Little Bill," said the stout boy in a low voice, "you're too light.
This will never do."

"Archie," returned the other with a languid smile, "I can't help it, you
know--at least not in a hurry. In course of time, if I eat frightfully,
I may grow heavier, but just now there's no remedy except the old one of
a stone."

"That's true, Little Bill," responded Archie with a perplexed look, as
he glanced inquiringly along the shore; "nevertheless, if thought could
make you he