the lake, through the river Trent, to some station-house
on the great lake. They found they should have time enough to land and
deposit their nuts and grapes and paddle to Long Island before sunset.
Upon the western part of this fine island they had several times landed
and passed some hours, exploring its shores; but Indiana told them, to
reach the old log-house they must enter the low swampy bay to the east,
at an opening which she called Indian Cove. To do this required some
skill in the management of the canoe, which was rather over-loaded for
so light a vessel; and the trees grew so close and thick that they had
some difficulty in pushing their way through them without injuring its
frail sides. These trees or bushes were chiefly black elder, high-bush
cranberries, dogwood, willows, and, as they proceeded further, and there
was ground of a more solid nature, cedar, poplar, swamp oak, and soft
maple, with silver birch and wild cherries. Long strings of silvery-grey
tree-moss hung dangling over their heads, the bark and roots of the
birch and cedars were covered with a luxuriant growth of green moss, but
there was a dampness and closeness in this place that made it far from
wholesome, and the little band of voyagers were not very sorry when the
water became too shallow to admit of the canoe making its way through
the swampy channel, and they landed on the banks of a small circular
pond, as round as a ring, and nearly surrounded by tall trees, hoary
with moss and lichens; large water-lilies floated on the surface of
this miniature lake, and the brilliant red berries of the high-bush
cranberry, and the purple clusters of grapes, festooned the trees.

"A famous breeding place this must be for ducks," observed Louis.

"And for flowers," said Catharine, "and for grapes and cranberries.
There is always some beauty or some usefulness to be found, however
lonely the spot."

"A fine place for musk-rats, and minks, and fishes," said Hector,
looking round. "The old trapper knew what he was about when he made his
lodge near this pond. And there, sure enough, is the log-hut, and not
so bad a one either," and scrambling up the bank he entered the deserted
little tenement, well pleased to find it in tolerable repair. There were
the ashes on the stone hearth, just as it had been left years back by
the old trapper; some rough hewn shelves, a rude bedstead of cedar poles
still occupied a corner of the little dwelling; heaps of old dr