The tent had been pitched on a little plateau some fifteen feet above the river. It was nine o’clock when supper was finished and the dishes washed, horse picketed and everything made ready for the night. The caribou skin was laid on the bed of boughs, the blankets made ready for cover, and George and the Preacher “retired.” The campfire shone out against the dark background of the wooded hills, the river sung a lullaby, and George told a story about a moose that he had killed the previous winter not more than forty rods from the spot where they were lying, and--when the Preacher waked he was freezing. The fire had gone out, it was nearly daybreak, and those blankets seemed made of gauze. He had no inordinate affection for George under normal conditions, but now he rolled over and clasped him to his heart. George seemed to have lost his fear of the Preacher, and for the remainder of the night each tried to use the other as a stove. Each failed of absolute success. It is evident that the teller of this story has violated one of the fundamental rules of homiletics, and made his porch too large for the house. There remains a whole forenoon of fishing to be disposed of and no time to tell about it. But if we had unlimited space at our command, who could fittingly describe even an hour of successful dalliance with the festive trout? There were no more of the size of the political boss and his friend; but how they came! Something over fifty trout preferred the Preacher to the town-meeting, and when noon came that meeting had adjourned sine die--especially _die_. Some were eaten for dinner, some were on the table at the Doaktown hotel that night, George had what he wanted, and twenty-one went back with the proud Preacher to Fredericton the next morning. [Illustration: 0057] [Illustration: 0058] _This simple fact, so glad in itself, so obvious to one who keeps his eyes open in Nature’s world, is mentioned here by way of invitation--to assure the reader if he but enter this School of the Woods, he will see little of that which made his heart ache in his own sad world; no tragedies or footlight effects of woes or struggles but rather a wholesome, cheerful life to make one glad and send him back to his own school with deeper wisdom and renewed courage_.--William J. Long, _School of the Woods._ [Illustration: 0059] IV. IN THE NORTH WOODS [Illustration: 9059] TOP a minute!” It was the frightful jolt as one of the wheels of the wagon struck a high boulder and then went down to the hub in a mud-hole that called forth this plaintive request. “I’ll get out and walk!”