CHAPTER XVII.

LITTLE TOPPER'S LAKE--A SPIKE BUCK--A THUNDER STORM IN THE FOREST--THE
HOWL OF THE WOLF.


We spent the next day in coasting Round Pond, looking into its
secluded bays, and resting, when the sun was hot, beneath the shadows
of the brave old trees that line the banks. In floating along the
shore of this beautiful sheet of water, one can hardly help imagining
that in the broken rocks and rough stones piled up along the margin of
the lake, he sees the rains of an ancient wall, the mortar of which
has become disintegrated by time, and the masonry fallen down. He will
see at intervals what, from a little distance, seems like a solid wall
of stone, laid with care, and upon which the lapse of centuries has
wrought no change, so regular are the strata of which it is composed,
while an occasional boulder, large as a house, and covered with moss,
reminds him of the ruined tower of some stronghold. He will see, as he
rounds some rocky point, half a dozen of these gigantic boulders piled
together, leaning against each other with great cavernous openings
between, through which he can walk erect, and he involuntarily looks
around him for the armor of the ancient giants who piled up these
stupendous rocks and walled in the lake with these massive boulders.

As we swept around a point near the south shore of the lake, we saw a
deer at a quarter of a mile from us, feeding upon the lily pads that
grew along the shore. Spalding and myself were in advance of our
little fleet, and our boatman paddled us carefully and silently
towards the animal, using the paddle only when its head was down. He