ly that is
wholly at variance with her velvet wheels, well lubricated machinery,
and the comfortable roundness of the corner seats, as if a plump and
smiling matron had suddenly started to swear.

We reach Athabasca Landing at half-past ten while daylight still
lingers. Our complexions are somewhat impaired, but the man who
settles the bill for the steaks and coffee says there is nothing wrong
with our appetites.

CHAPTER VIII

COUNTRY DELIGHTS

Sometimes, I go a-fishing and shooting, and even then I carry a
note-book, that if I lose game, I may at least bring home my pleasant
thoughts!--PLINY.

I am fishing for graylings, but so far have caught none, my case being
similar to that of one Chang Chi-Ho, who in the eighth century, "spent
his time angling but used no bait, his object not being to catch fish."

And truth to tell, I have not even the grace of an object, unless it be
to talk to the men folk who are lading the big flat scows called
"Sturgeon-Heads," for the trip down the river.

By these right pleasant waters of the Athabasca, you are no longer
guided by duty but throw a rein on the senses. You do things because
you want to do them, and not because you ought to. This is owing to
the fact that the time-table loses its thrall north of 55 deg. I intend
stopping here a long while.

It is a sun-steeped day, and the river looks like a bed of sequins.
The sun, although it is strong in Alberta, doesn't seem to ripen people
like it does farther south. I can see this from the way people give me
greeting and from how they tell me all that is in their hearts.

Antoine hears that far off in that place called Montreal they dig worms
out of the clay for bait, and that these worms have neither shells nor
fur. This must be "wan beeg lie," for how could the worms keep from
freezing? It is not according to reason. These white men with trails
in the middle of their hair say these things so that the Crees, who are
very shrewd rivermen, will go to live in Montreal.

I heartily concur with Antoine. I have been to Montreal myself and
have never seen so much as the sign of an earth-worm. They tell queer
yarns, those Eastern fellows who come from down North to write books
and buy land, but Antoine and I won't be fooled by them. Indeed, we
won't.

Antoine caught a pike the other day without a line, but he lost it
again. It was the biggest fish he ever caught, but this is only
natural, and is no new thin