specimens secured. After making our observations we turned again
toward the northern shore, where more specimens were collected. Here
Tom and Henry Blake said goodby to us and turned homeward.

During the afternoon Stanton and I each killed a porcupine, making
three in all for the day--a good beginning in the matter of game.

At sunset we landed at Watty's Brook, a small stream flowing into
Grand Lake from the north, and some twenty miles above the rapid. Our
progress during the day had been slow, as the wind had died away and
we had, several times, to wait for Duncan to overtake us in his slower
rowboat.

While the rest of us "made camp" Duncan cut wood for a rousing fire,
as the evening was cool, and Pete put a porcupine to boil for supper.
We were a hungry crowd when we sat down to eat. I had told the boys
how good porcupine was, how it resembled lamb and what a treat we were
to have. But all porcupines are not alike, and this one was not
within my reckoning. Tough! He was certainly "the oldest
inhabitant," and after vain efforts to chew the leathery meat, we
turned in disgust to bread and coffee, and Easton, at least, lost
faith forever in my judgment of toothsome game, and formed a
particular prejudice against porcupines which he never overcame. Pete
assured us, however, that, "This porcupine, he must boil long. I boil
him again to-night and boil him again to-morrow morning. Then he very
good for breakfast. Porcupine fine. Old one must be cooked long."

So Pete, after supper, put the porcupine on to cook some more,
promising that we should find it nice and tender for breakfast.