He betrays ingratitude, however, of the basest description, for he consigns you to a hotter place than—skating, because, forsooth, you gathered some of his back hair in your fist. Well, such is life! “Men were ungrateful ever.”
Now you near the worst place yet encountered, open water, with ice here and there between the boulders on the shore. In and out you thread your way, dulling the skate blades sadly on the stones; but soon the obstruction is passed, and the “going” is again good. There, to the right, is the tamarac swamp, where you have bowled over many a “bunny” and many a grouse. There the wooded point where you had such a pleasant picnic and met jolly Miss Jones. But duck your head, for here is the railroad bridge, and in case of contact with those jutting iron bolts your cranium would be apt to come out second best.
Why, here we are at the locks already! A short four miles it has seemed, covered in little more than twenty minutes. Now off with the “acmes,” for why should one blunt them, or stumble over the portage like a drunken man, when he can so easily unlock the skates and saunter over comfortably?
Another mile and a half is passed, and a second set of lock-gates is reached, which must be crossed ere we can come to the lake-like expanse on their farther side, made by the widening of the river. Halloa! there is a sail, and a large one at that. What can it be? Oh, the ice-boat, of course. How stupid of me not to think of it before.
When we cross over the rise the boat comes into full view, dashing along at high speed as it tacks from shore to shore. It is the only craft of the kind in Central Canada, and is consequently regarded as a wonderful machine. To me, however, it looks a crude affair indeed, after the far-famed fleets that grace the frozen waters of the Hudson.
Mile after mile we skim along, now jumping a crack, now avoiding a miniature drift of snow. The sun is in my eyes, and I cannot keep a good lookout. Suddenly I am startled by a warning shout, which brings me to a standstill to discover that there is open water but a few feet ahead.
The shadows of evening are falling, so we turn homeward. The scenes of the outward journey meet the eye again, mellowed in the deepening twilight. At length we reach the landing, with a keen appetite for dinner, and in a condition to thoroughly enjoy the after-dinner pipe before an open fire, and the perusal of the latest novel.
