UNGAVA. ; 105

these mountains impossible; for, except to men accus-
tomed to canoe travelling in the American lakes and
rivers, such an attempt would have appeared as hopeless
as the passage of a ship through the ice-locked polar
seas in winter.

Not so thought the men. Already several of the
most active of them were scrambling up the cliffs with
heavy loads on their backs ; and, while Stanley and his
wife were yet conversing, two of them approached
rapidly, bearing the large canoe on their shoulders.
The exclamation that issued from the foremost of these
proved him to be Bryan.

“ Now, bad luck to ye, Gaspard! can’t ye go stidy ?
It’s mysilf that’ll be down on me blissid nose av ye go
staggerin’ about in that fashion. Sure it’s Losh, the
spalpeen, that would carry the canoe better than you.”

Gaspard made no reply. Bryan staggered on, growl-
ing as he went, and in another minute they were hid
from view among the bushes.

“What do you see, Frank?” inquired Stanley ; “ you
stare as earnestly as Bryan did at the white bear last
week. What is’t, man? speak!”

“A fish,” replied Frank. “I saw him rise in the
pool, and I’m certain he’s a very large one.”

“Very likely, Frank ; there ought to be fish of some
sort there. I’ve been told—hist! there he’s again. As
I live, a salmon! a salmon, Frank! Now for your rod,
my boy.”

But Frank heard him not, for he was gone. In a few
minutes he returned with a fishing-rod, which he was
busily engaged in putting up as he hurried towards the
rocks beside the pool.

Now, Frank Morton was a fisher. We do not mean
to say that he was a fisher by profession; nor do we