Long Pine Lake looked still and pond-like; the weeds and slimy tendrils in the water were too visible, the bank we landed upon was too muddy, and the scattered débris of recent building did not add to its attractions. Although the engineers had but lately moved into the house, and one wing of it was still in the workmen's hands, everything was as comfortable and well arranged as good taste could make it. Bachelors' quarters they were—the only house on the contract uninhabited by woman—but the ingenuity and industry with which they had been fitted up more than compensated for her absence.
The walls of the sitting, smoking, and general lounging room were hung with trophies of the chase—Indian work, pictures and photographs of lovely faces from the artist world; while books, papers, and easy chairs tempted one to linger. The dining-room and kitchen were still unfinished. So, when we had shaken ourselves straight, and resumed our despised collars and neckties, Mr. K—— took us over in the canoe to the contractor's shanty to dinner. The pretty woman who waited upon us could not complain of the fare not being appreciated. We did full justice to it; lingering until long after dark, telling our adventures and sharpening our wits against each other. The doctor also joined our party. But a six-o'clock breakfast and early departure being decided upon, we had to break up at a reasonable hour.
In the morning we found we must keep to the canoe route, instead of going by waggon to Cross Lake as we had intended. Rain had fallen all night, but it was then bright and clear. Long Pine Lake looked better in the sunlight, and the portage to Hawk Lake, to which we had to return in order to reach Cross Lake, unnoticed the night before, was fully enjoyed now. The ground was carpeted ankle-deep with moss of endless variety, and ferns sparkling with raindrops. Hawk Lake was calm, only a light ripple glittering in the sun where had been white-capped waves before. Crossing the north-west end, we struck a short portage to a tiny lake, across which a few minutes' paddle carried us. It was now comparatively easy work for the men, all the heavy camping baggage having been left at Ingolf, and the remainder, except our hand-satchels, sent on by packers going through to Cross Lake. As Mr. K—— and his men accompanied us, no double trips were necessary.
Our last portage showed many signs of active life; there were several boats left by packers—glycerine cans, large racks on which whitefish-nets were drying, a shanty with a rugged garden round it, besides the well-worn paths which tell of frequent traffic. The men went briskly up the hill with our canoe, and were soon out of sight; but thinking that the lower path was likely to be the coolest and most sheltered, we followed that. It was so pretty and dry for the first half-mile that we congratulated ourselves upon our choice, and pitied the poor men toiling up the rocks in the heat. But our self-satisfaction was short-lived. A few yards further the path began to descend, getting wetter and more swampy at every step. Mr. K——, who carried his paddles, threw them across the mud as bridges, and by taking advantage of all the fallen trees and stumps, we got on pretty well for a time. But the task became more and more difficult every minute. Once, while scrambling along a half-submerged log, I grasped some tall weeds to save myself from falling; they tinned out to be stinging nettles, and I do not feel called upon to recommend them as a means of support. Presently Mr. F——, who was in front, called out—
"Hallo! here's a jolly puddle!" and plunged in up to his knees. It was too wide to bridge, the paddles were too narrow to afford us foothold; and before we guessed his intention, Mr. F—— deposited the satchels he carried on the other side, came back and took his wife on his back, saying I was to wait till he returned. The extra weight made him sink deeper in the swamp; and as Mrs. F——'s dress floated on the slimy surface, Mr. K—— followed, and raising it tenderly on the blade of the paddle, the procession moved on; while I, the sole spectator, stood, like a stork, on a stump barely wide enough to support one foot at a time, awaiting my turn.
When we arrived at the lake, a few minutes afterwards, we found the maid, who had gone on with Mr. M—— and the baby, while we were loitering at the last landing, busy removing the mud which encased her clothes. She had found no friendly back on which to rise above the swamp, and had accordingly fared badly. While waiting for the canoes, we spread our shawls on the grassy shore under some trees and sat down. Presently some one regretted the absence of the provision-bag, and the maid regretted that she had not asked how to make the buns we had for breakfast. (She amused us much by her anxiety to collect receipts.) To soothe these mourners, Mr. M——, with some little trouble, produced from one of his pockets a can of salmon.
"Hungry! Oh yes, we were hungry enough to eat anything." But when the tin was opened, we found that canned salmon, without bread or vinegar, went a long way. Even our hunger could not tempt us to take more than one taste, after which we unanimously resolved not to spoil our appetites for dinner.
Cross Lake is long, narrow, and uninteresting, and the surrounding country flat, though rocky. When we crossed it was quite calm, but Carrière said that it was one of the roughest of the lakes in a storm, the west wind having a clear sweep over it. After paddling for about an hour and a half, when we reached the spot where the railway line crossed a narrow part of the lake, and the embankment was partly filled in, we turned to our left into a narrow, winding creek, very like Falcon River, and in five minutes were at Denmark's Ranche.
Then we climbed up a very muddy bank, and along a still muddier dump, or railroad embankment, to the shanty, a large log-hut with several additions, one of a single room ten feet square. The cook, his wife—a delicate-looking woman—and two children lived here. They welcomed us kindly, and with many apologies for the want of space. Their room was neat and clean, and the inmates seemed contented with everything except the mud, which was so deep all round the shanty that it was impossible to go out with any comfort, and the absence of exercise was very much felt. The ranche was always full of people coming and going, so there was no lack of society or news. The room we dined in was large, about twenty feet by sixteen. The table was covered with brown oil-cloth, and had benches along it at one end. The other was filled with temporary bunks like the berths in a steamer, one above the other. The menu contained, among other things, a wild goose, roasted and stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs and raisins, more like an imitation plum pudding than anything else, flat pies filled with dried apples, and the inevitable plates of fresh, sliced cheese, which is the chief peculiarity of Ontario farmhouse tables.
While at dinner a heavy shower fell, and we were told that we could form no idea of the state of the road in consequence of so much rain. No vehicle could traverse it, and we must walk the remaining six miles to the end of the track. Mr. M—— went immediately to detain the train until we could reach it, and after saying good bye to Mr. K——, who returned to Ingolf, we followed, Mr. D—— coming with us to "carry the baby," he said. And so he did, the whole distance, and his own bairns, miles away, had many a hug that day by proxy, I fancy.