A bright band of light clearly defined the eastern horizon, and heralded the approach of the sun. A steamer, making its way along the shore, stood out with great distinctness in the clear atmosphere. They were in Georgian Bay, dotted with pretty islands, and near the southwestern shore, deeply indented and covered with timber.
“There are our friends, the sea-gulls,” exclaimed Norman. Yes, there they were—
“The hungry sea-gulls
Came back from the reedy islands,
Clamorous for the morning banquet,”
their white wings glancing in the sunlight. At length Collingwood was visible, a stone light-house, on an island, passed, then another wooden light-house, and they were in the harbor.
Norman saw two wigwams among the trees, and a “dug-out” with four or five Indians in it.
The train had left twenty minutes before the smoke of the Planet was seen, and a telegram was sent to Toronto requesting a special train, which it was thought would be granted. The passengers were all seated in the cars, the locomotive had its steam up, when a telegram came to say that there could be no train before four o’clock.
Collingwood is a collection of unpainted houses built in the sand, most dreary and uninviting in its aspect. Norman and his mother, and Alfred Scarborough, walked through its streets. The stores are shaded by evergreens, stuck in the ground, to afford a temporary shade. They went into several stores, to buy some Indian things, but there was no one in the store to sell them, and after waiting a while they were obliged to leave. At length Mrs. Lester found some pretty boxes, worked with porcupine quills, and Norman bought an Indian battle-axe.
After wandering a while on the shores of the lake, looking down into its clear transparent waters, and gathering some wild flowers, they returned to the boat, where they found the other passengers. The view of the harbor of Collingwood was very pretty, the waters were blue and beautiful, and the breezes cool and bracing.