Mr. Smith turned his head and looked at the divide for half a second
and then said he had crossed a worse one up north back of the
Wahnipitae and that the flies were Hades,--and then went on playing
freezeout poker with the two juniors in Duff's bank.

So Dr. Gallagher realized that that's always the way when you try to
tell people things, and that as far as gratitude and appreciation
goes one might as well never read books or travel anywhere or do
anything.

In fact, it was at this very moment that he made up his mind to give
the arrows to the Mariposa Mechanics' Institute,--they afterwards
became, as you know, the Gallagher Collection. But, for the time
being, the doctor was sick of them and wandered off round the boat
and watched Henry Mullins showing George Duff how to make a John
Collins without lemons, and finally went and sat down among the
Mariposa band and wished that he hadn't come.

So the boat steamed on and the sun rose higher and higher, and the
freshness of the morning changed into the full glare of noon, and
they went on to where the lake began to narrow in at its foot, just
where the Indian's Island is, all grass and trees and with a log
wharf running into the water: Below it the Lower Ossawippi runs out
of the lake, and quite near are the rapids, and you can see down
among the trees the red brick of the power house and hear the roar of
the leaping water.

The Indian's Island itself is all covered with trees and tangled
vines, and the water about it is so still that it's all reflected