They all raced around the house and began to climb the sheer, rocky hill that rose straight up from the rear.
“Here, Jim, help me with these kiddies,” said Jane to a lank lad of fifteen, whom she ran into at the corner of the house just where the climb began.
Jim swung the younger, little Helen, upon his shoulder and together they raced to the top, scrambling, slipping, falling, but finally arriving there, breathless and triumphant. Before them lay a bit of Canada's loveliest lake, the Lake of the Woods, so-called from its myriad, heavily wooded islands, that make of its vast expanse a maze of channels, rivers and waterways. Calm, without a ripple, lay the glassy, sunlit surface, each island, rock and tree meeting its reflected image at the water line, the sky above flecked with floating clouds, making with the mirrored sky below one perfect whole.
“Oh, Ethel, I had forgotten just how beautiful this is,” breathed Jane, while the rest stood silent looking down upon the mirrored rocks and islands, trees and sky.
Even the two little girls stood perfectly still, for they had been taught to take the first views from the top in silence.
“Look at the Big Rock,” said Helen. “They are two rocks kissing each other.”
“Oh, you little sweetheart,” said Jane, kissing her. “That is just what they are doing. It is not often that you get it so perfectly still as this, is it, Jim?”
“Not so very often. Sometimes just at sunrise you get it this way.”
“At sunrise! Do you very often see it then?”
“Yes, he gets up to catch fishes,” said wee Helen.