'People say it is the sudden frost striking the sap; or that there is some peculiar power in the sunbeams—actinic power, I believe 'tis called—to paint the leaves thus; but one thing seems fatal to this supposition, that after a very dry summer the colouring is not near so brilliant as it would be otherwise. I'm inclined to repose faith in the frost theory myself; for I have noticed that after a scorching hot day and sharp night in August, the maples come out in scarlet next morning.'

'Now, at home there would be some bald patches on the trees,' observed Arthur. 'The leaves seem to fall wholesale here, after staying on till the last.'

'I have heard much of the Indian summer,' said Linda, 'but it far exceeds my expectation. An artist would be thought mad who transferred such colouring to his canvas, as natural. Just look at the brilliant gleam in the water all along under that bank, from the golden leafage above it; and yonder the reflection is a vermilion stain. I never saw anything so lovely. I hope it will last a long time, Bob.'

That was impossible to say; sometimes the Indian summer was for weeks, sometimes but for a few days; Canadians had various opinions as to its arrival and duration: September, October, or November might have portions of the dreamy hazy weather thus called. As to why the name was given, nobody could tell; except it bore reference to an exploded idea that the haze characteristic of the time of the year arose from the burning of the great grassy prairies far west by the red men.

'What has become of your colony of Indians?' asked Armytage, 'those who lived near the cedar swamp?'

'Oh, they left us in "the whortleberry moon," as they call August, and migrated to some region where that fruit abounds, to gather and store it for winter use. They smoke the berries over a slow fire, I am told, and when dry, pack them in the usual birch-bark makaks; and I've seen them mixed with the dough of bread, and boiled with venison or porcupine, or whatever other meat was going, as we would use whole pepper.'

'After the whortleberries, they were to go to the rice-grounds,' observed Arthur. 'Bob, suppose we paddle over and try for ducks in the rice-beds, to the lee of that island.'

Here were some hundred yards of shallow water, filled with the tall graceful plant, named by the Jesuits 'folle avoine,' and by the English 'wild rice.' The long drooping ears filled with very large grains, black outside and white within, shook down their contents into the silt at bottom with every movement which waved their seven-feet stems. Arthur knew it as a noted haunt of wild duck, a cloud of which arose when he fired.

'It was here we met all the pigeons the other day,' said he. 'Those trees were more like the inside of a feather-bed than anything else, so covered were they with fluttering masses of birds; you couldn't see a bit of the foliage; and 'twas quite amusing to watch some of them lighting on the rice, which wasn't strong enough to support them, and trying to pick out the grains. As they could neither swim nor stand, they must have been thoroughly tantalized. Don't you remember, Armytage?'

But their main business, the plums, must be attended to; the islet was found which was bordered with festoons of them, hanging over the edge in the coves; and after due feasting on the delicious aromatic fruit, they gathered some basketsful. When that was done, it was high time to paddle homewards; the sun was gliding forth from the roseate vault over the western rim, and a silvery haze rose from the waters, softly veiling the brilliant landscape.