tenacity with which that old
'lawyer' clung to the idea of costs. There he was gasping for breath,
his life depending upon the result of the negotiation, and still he
insisted upon the payment of costs as a condition of compromise."

"Probably out of regard for the interest of his client," said
Spalding, gravely; "but proceed with the case."

"'Fisherman,' said I," resumed the Doctor, "'what is the cost of these
five _lawyers_? How much for the fee simple of the lot?'

"'They ain't worth but ninepence,' he replied.

"'Good,' said I, 'here's a shilling, York currency.'

"'Agreed,' said he, and threw in a sucker, by way of change.

"'Anything more?' I asked of the old cormorant lawyer.

"'No,' he replied; 'all right--so toss us overboard, and be quick, for
my breath is getting a little short.' I threw them over, one at a
time, the old fellow last, and as he slipped from my hand into the
river, he thrust his ugly face out of the water, and said, coolly,
'Good morning! When you come our way again, _drop in_.'

"'No,' said I, 'I'll _drop a line._' I remembered how I 'dropped in,'
over on Long Lake, one day, and had no inclination to drop in to the
St. Lawrence, especially when there are old lawyer fishes there to
summon me for assault and battery on a 'Shatagee trout.'"

"Doctor," said Hank Martin, one of our boatmen, who had been listening
to the Doctor's narrative, "I don't want to be considered for'ard or
sassy, but I'd like to know how much of these kinds of stories we
hired folks are obligated to believe?"

"Well," replied the Doctor, "there are three of you in all, and
between you, you must make up a reasonable case, as Spalding would
say, of faith in everything you may hear. This you may do by dividing
it up among you."

"Very good," said Martin, with imperturbable gravity; "I only wanted a
fair understanding of the matter on the start."

CHAPTER V.

A FRIGHTENED ANIMAL--TROLLING FOR TROUT--THE BOATMAN'S STORY.

We sat in front of our tents, enjoying the delightful breeze that
swept quietly over the lake, and watching the stars as they stole out
from the depths. The whippoorwill piped away in the old forests, and
the frogs bellowed like ten thousand buffaloes along the shore. The
roar of their hoarse voices went rolling over the lake, through the
old woods, and surging up against the mountains to be thrown back by
the echoes that dwell among the hills. We had knocked the ashes from
our pipes,