"Yes, and with forest and lake, and sky and island, there is a fascinating beauty."
"The Indians say that to the north and west throughout the Georgian Bay the islands are like the leaves of the forest, they cannot be counted," Smith remarked.
"Still new fields to conquer," added Harold.
"New beauties to explore," said the Chaplain.
The canoes had almost reached the "glittering sands" to the right of the mouth of the harbor. The sun had set, and the gloaming was coming upon them with the placid stillness of a summer night.
"Suppose we return," suggested Helen. "It will be dark by the time we reach the shore."
"Paddle gently," ejaculated Smith in a low voice. "Let us wait a bit. You see those bushes beyond the sandy beach. Three deer come down there every evening to water—a buck with growing antlers and two does. If you sit still and do not speak they will not notice you. The Doctor and I will creep up a little nearer."
Smith, who was the crack shot of the party, picked up his rifle, while Beaumont, the skilled canoeist, paddled noiselessly toward the shore. The former had only time to creep under cover of the bushes to a spot where an open view could be obtained, when the deer, with heads erect and led by the stag, marched slowly down to the water's edge.
Not a paddle of the watchers moved, and scarcely a muscle. Beaumont sat in his canoe grounded on the beach, with eyes fixed on the deer, for he could just discern them beyond a stretch of sand. But Smith was invisible. A few moments of silence and suspense. . . with head bent forward the stag waded into the water, a doe on either side. Bang! went the rifle. The stag reared and fell forward with a splash. Quick as lightning his mates turned and fled to the woods, while a cheer rang out from the men in the canoes, as they paddled over to the spot.
"It was pitiful to see the poor does," said Helen, sensitively.