I looked at the pool; it was black. The singing waters of the torrent showed unearthly white against the intensified green. The sky became suddenly overcast with swiftly moving clouds. In a moment the wind was all about us; the sound of its going through the forest filled the air with a confused roar. The great trees were already swaying, as we ran down the trail to the lake--and found Mr. Ewart just drawing his canoe and ours high up and away from the already uneasy water. He was breathing quickly. "There 's a storm coming, André--we saw it from the other side of the lake; coming hard, too, from the southwest. The lake will not be safe till it is over. We will stay here in the open even if we get wet. It is not safe in the woods; the trees are already breaking. I hear the crash of the branches." "And the seignior did not trust mademoiselle with me?" Evidently he was disgruntled. "True, I am no longer in my first youth" (I saw Mr. Ewart suppress a smile), "but years give caution, seignior--and I have many more than you." Mr. Ewart laughed pleasantly. The sound of it dissipated André's anger--the quick resentment of old age. "True, mon vieux camarade, you have the years; but I stand between you and mademoiselle when it comes to a matter of years. I must care for you both." "I am content that it should be so, _moi_." He squatted by the canoes which he lashed to a small boulder. No rain fell, but the wind was terrific in its force. We were obliged to lie flat on the sand. The air was filled with confused torrents of sound, so deafening that we could not make ourselves heard one to the other. It was over in ten minutes. The sky cleared, the sun shone; the lake waters subsided; the sounds died away, and very suddenly. In the minute's calm that followed it seemed as if, in all that land, there were no stirring of a leaf, a twig, or fin of fish, or wing of fowl. There was again a sudden change of wind, and we knew the very moment when the upper air currents, cool and crisp with a touch of Arctic frost, swept down upon the earth and brought refreshment. In another quarter of an hour there was no trace of the storm on the lake; but behind us, on each side of the trail, we saw great trees uprooted. "I can leave you and André now, and with a clear conscience, to your fishing," he said, as he ran down his canoe. I felt positively grateful to him for not insisting on taking me back with him; it would have hurt old André's pride as well as feelings. "We 'll bring home fish enough for supper," I said with fine amateur assurance. "I warn you 'We are seven' plus the two Montagnais; they stay to-night." "If I don't make good, André will." And André smiled in what I thought a particularly significant way.