'A great improvement to your charcoal forest, it must be owned,' said Robert, pointing Armytage to where the sharp black tops of rampikes projected over the mist. The young man did not relish allusions to that folly of his father's, and was silent.
'Oh, Bob, what a pretty islet!' exclaimed Linda, as they passed a rock crested with a few trees, and almost carpeted by the brilliant red foliage of the pyrola, or winter green. 'The bushes make quite a crimson wreath round the yellow poplars.'
'I think,' said Robert, with deliberation, 'it would be almost worth the voyage across the Atlantic Ocean to see this single day of "the pink mist."'
CHAPTER XXXVI.
BELOW ZERO.
ndian summer was succeeded by the 'temps boucaneux,' when hoarfrost drooped noiselessly on the night its silver powder on all the dazzling colouring, presenting nature robed in a delicate white guise each morning, which the sun appropriated to himself as soon as he could get above the vapours. Now were the vast waters of Canada passing from a fluid to a solid form, giving out caloric in quantities, accompanied by these thin mists. Towards the close of November navigation ceases on the Ottawa; the beginning of December sees the mighty river frozen over. Yet it lies in the latitude of Bordeaux! All honour to the benevolent Gulf Stream which warms France and England comfortably.
When Linda's fingers were particularly cold, she would puzzle Robert and her father with questions as to why this should be so. Mr. Holt once told her that the prevailing wind came from the north-west across a vast expanse of frozen continent and frozen ocean. Also that James's Bay, the southern tongue of Hudson's, was apt to get choked with masses of ice drifted in from the arctic seas, and which, being without a way of escape, just jammed together and radiated cold in company on the surrounding lands.