An hour or so for luncheon and chatting, and then into the stream again and on our way towards its mouth. The creels were getting heavy, and the Doctor decided to take a short cut for the lake shore. Just before starting, the two were standing near together fishing a pool, when the Doctor, taking a forward step, slipped on a smooth stone and began falling. The process was the most slow, deliberate, and altogether comical the Preacher ever witnessed. As he began losing his balance and tipping over backwards, he made frantic efforts to regain his poise. Both hands waving in the air, one clutching his rod, eyes popping out of his head, a look of mingled surprise and disgust illuminating his manly face, the final, mighty splash as the stream yielded to the impact of his body, formed a most delightful picture for his sympathetic and sorrowing comrade. Strangely enough, the Doctor could not see the humour of the situation, and if he should ever deign to read this truthful record it is doubtful if he cracks a smile. Thoroughly drenched, the Doctor’s previous determination to take a short-cut home was much strengthened. He struck off into the woods and the Preacher was left alone to follow the stream. When he had reached the cabin the Doctor had not arrived. When it was almost sundown and no Doctor, the guide started out in search of him. According to later reports the Doctor was found in a depressed state of mind playing hide-and-go-seek with the trees in a tamarack swamp. The guide declared that he knew where they were all of the time--a most credible statement. They were in a tamarack swamp. It was well towards nine o’clock when they arrived at camp, and it took a hot supper to restore their normal good spirits. The guide had frequently descanted upon the excellence of the fishing on “Lost Creek”; but as that stream was seven miles away, and no trail led to it, members of the party had not shown great eagerness to make the trip. But when the lake and near-by streams had become familiar through frequent visits, the Doctor, the Boy and the Preacher decided upon an excursion to “Lost Creek.” After crossing the lake, the guide plunged into what seemed an impenetrable jungle, and steadily led the way up and over the hill, through dense thickets showing no sign of ever having been traversed before. He never seemed to hesitate which way to go, and his confidence was inexplicable to those who followed until he pointed to a tree that had been “blazed,” then to another in the distance. He was not guessing or travelling by compass, but following a “blazed trail.”