our outfit which we left in his charge.

Silently we paddled through the "little lake." The clouds hung somber
and dull with threatening rain, and a gentle breeze wafted to us now
and again a bit of fragrance from the spruce-covered hills above us.
Almost before I realized it we were at the rapid. Away to the
westward stretched Grand Lake, deep and dark and still, with the
rugged outline of Cape Corbeau in the distance.

Tom Blake and his family, one and all, came out to give us the whole-
souled, hospitable welcome of "The Labrador." Even Atikamish, the
little Indian dog that Mackenzie used to have, but which he had given
to Tom when he left Northwest River, was on hand to tell me in his dog
language that he remembered me and was delighted to see me back. Here
we would stay for the night--the last night for months that we were to
sleep in a habitation of civilized man.

The house was a very comfortable little log dwelling containing a
small kitchen, a larger living-room which also served as a sleeping-
room, and an attic which was the boys' bedroom. The house was
comfortably furnished, everything clean to perfection, and the atmos-
phere of love and home that dwelt here was long remembered by us while
we huddled in many a dreary camp during the weeks that followed.

Duncan did not come that night, and it was not until ten o'clock the
next morning (June twenty-seventh) that he appeared. Then we made
ready for the start. Tom and his young son Henry announced their
intention of accompanying us a short distance up Grand Lake in their
small sailboat. Mrs. Blake gave us enough bread and buns, which she
had baked especially for us, to last two or three days, and she gave