Indian Jake shifted uneasily, and reaching over to snuff the candle, grunted:
“Hugh! I think sometimes the devil made her, th’ way we have t’ fight her t’ get up t’ Seal Lake.”
“’Tweren’t th’ devil!” objected Andy, horrified at the suggestion. “’Twere th’ Lard made she. We couldn’t get t’ Seal Lake without she, though she is a bit hard t’ go up sometimes.”
“Pop says th’ Lard makes it hard for us t’ master th’ good things He makes for us,” said David. “That’s so we’ll know how good they are after we masters un.”
“You lads’ll be gettin’ homesick, and you talks about such things,” broke in Indian Jake, knocking the ashes from his pipe. “It’s time t’ turn in.”
And so the days of toil continued, until one morning they entered a lake, and David gave a shout of joy and announced to Andy that the work of long carries and hauling the boat through rapids was at an end.
“We’re ’most to th’ Narrows tilt,” said he. “This is th’ lower end of Seal Lake, and just above here is th’ Narrows.”
And so it proved. When presently the lake narrowed down into a short strait and directly opened into a far extending expanse of water, David pointed excitedly to the eastern shore, some four hundred yards above, with the exclamation:
“There ’tis, Andy! There ’tis! See un?”