The hunter then carefully adjusted his bait, and threw out the whole length of his line. After alternately sinking his hook, and then drawing it to the surface, for two or three throws, the line suddenly straightened, moved slowly backward at first, then swept rapidly round and round, or darted off in sharp short angles, with downward and forward plunges so quick and powerful as to make the stout sapling pole sway and bend, like a whipstock, in the steadying hands of the hunter. For four or five minutes he made no attempt to draw in his prize, but let the fish have full play to the length of its tether, till its efforts had become comparatively feeble; when, slowly bringing it alongside, he took the line in his hand, and, with a quick jerk, landed the noble fellow safely on the bottom of the canoe. “There, sir!” exclaimed the hunter, seizing the trout by the gills, and triumphantly holding it up to view, “there is about what I bargained for: two feet long, not an inch shorter,--seven pounds weight, and not an ounce lighter! Now, being satisfied, I am done.” “What, leave off with such luck?” asked Claud in surprise. “Yes, young man,” said the other, “I hold it all but a downright sin to draw from God’s storehouse a single pound more than is really needed. This will last my family as long as it will keep, this warm weather, with the plenty of moose-meat we shall have. Any thing more is a waste, which _I_ will not commit. And _you_, sir, who have just hauled in your third and largest one, I perceive, and have now nearly as many pounds as I have,--what can _you_ want of more? Come, let us pull up and off for our homes. It is nearly time, any way.” Although loth to break off his sport, yet inwardly acknowledging the justness of the hunter’s philosophy, Claud reluctantly drew in and wound up his line, hauled in his anchor, and, handling his oar, shot out abreast of the other, who had already got under way, into the heaving waters of the now agitated lake. Side by side, with the quick and easy dip of their elastic single oars, the rowers now sent their light, sharp canoes, dug out to the thinness of a board from the straight-grained dry pine, rapidly ahead over the broken and subdued waves of the cove, in which they had been stationed, till they rounded the intervening woody point which had cut off the view of the lower end of the lake. “Good Heavens!” exclaimed Claud, starting back, with suspended oar, as now, coming out in view of the lake, his eye fell on the huge pillar of smoke, which, deeply enshrouding that part of the distant forest lying east of the outlet of the lake with its expanded base, was rolling upward its thousand dark, doubling folds; “good Heavens, Phillips, look yonder! Where and what is it? It looks like a burning city.”