however, by holding fast to the gunwale. May-may-gwán stepped in
amidships, with a half-deprecating glance at the young man's inscrutable
back. At the end of the brief paddling the upper pool allowed them, she
was first ashore.

Late that afternoon the travel for a half mile became exceedingly
difficult. The stream took on the character of a mountain brook. It
hardly paid to float the canoe in the tiny holes among the rocks,
miniature cascades, and tortuous passages. The forest grew to the very
banks, and arched over to exclude the sun. Every few feet was to be
avoided a tree, half clinging to the bank, leaning at a perilous slant
out over the creek. Fortunately the spring freshets in this country of
the great snows were powerful enough to sweep out the timber actually
fallen, so the course of the stream itself was clear of jams. At length
the travellers reached a beaver-dam, and so to a little round lake among
the hills. They had come to the head waters of the Mattawishguia.

In the lake stood two moose, old and young. Dick succeeded in killing
the yearling, though it took two shots from his Winchester. It was
decided to camp here over one day in order that the meat might be
saved.

A circle of hills surrounded the little body of water. On them grew
maples and birches, among which scattered a few hemlocks and an
occasional pine. At the edge of the water were cedars leaning out to
look at their reflections. A deep and solemn peace seemed to brood over
the miniature lake. Such affairs as bird songs, the slap of a paddle,
the shots from Dick's rifle could not break this strange stillness. They
spoke hastily, and relapsed to silence, like the rare necessary voices
in a room where one lies dead. The hush, calm and primal, with the