That night Nance could talk of nothing but the canoe, where they would go, and what they would do.
"What shall we call it, Nance?" Martin asked. "We haven't given our canoe a name yet, you know."
"Let's call it Beryl," was the reply. "Won't that be a nice name?"
"Very well, little one," Martin assented. "It shall be as you say."
Almost every day after this Martin took Nance out upon the water. The fishing was good, and many were the fine salmon they brought to land. But when not fishing Martin would paddle slowly over the lake far away from the cabin. Often the water was perfectly calm like a huge mirror, reflecting the trees and rocks along the shore, as well as the great fleecy clouds which floated lazily overhead. At such times a complete silence brooded over the lake. No discords from the far-off throbbing world of commerce disturbed the quiet scene. It was as serene and beautiful as when it came fresh from the hand of its Creator. Here there was no mad rush for wealth, position, or fame. Here no huge industries vomited forth their volumes of poisonous smoke, nor crushed out the very life-blood of countless men, women, and children. Here there was abundance for all in forest and in stream. Martin thought of all this as he paddled slowly over the lake. They were happy hours for him. Nance was near and often he would look upon her with love and pride. Her chief enjoyment consisted in trailing one little hand through the water by the side of the canoe. Often her joyous laugh would ring out over the silent reaches, and then she would listen entranced to its echo far away in the distance.
One bright afternoon Martin turned the prow of his canoe up the Quaska River. Hitherto he had not paddled up this stream but had been content to spend his time upon the lake. For some distance as he advanced the shores were lined with fir and jack-pines right to the water's edge. At length he came to a large wild meadow where the stream sulked along, and paddling was much easier. Beyond this the trees were small and straggling, showing evidence of fires which had devastated the land. The water here was shallow, and at times the canoe grated upon the gravel. Ere long he reached the mouth of a small stream flowing into the Quaska. Here he ran the craft ashore, and making it fast to a tree he took Nance by the hand, and walked slowly up the creek. It was a quiet sun-lit place, where cottonwood trees and jack-pines lined the sloping hills. An Indian trail led along the bank, and this they followed for some distance. Coming at last to a fair-sized tree, a patriarch among its fellows, they paused.
"We'll have something to eat now," Martin remarked, as he seated himself upon the ground beneath the shade of the outspreading branches.
"Oh, this is nice!" Nance sighed, as she took her place at his feet, and watched him unfold the parcel which contained their food. "Wouldn't it be nice to stay here all the time?"
"Not at night, Nance," and Martin laughed. "It would be cold then, and there might be bears around."
"Would there?" and the child drew closer to her guardian. "Will they come here now, do you think?"