And when this part of the river was
passed all suggestion of Hades vanished. There stretched before us
Mountain Cat Lake, for beauty, a gem in its setting of hills. It
was half a mile wide and two miles long. In the lower part were
two small wooded islands, but the upper part was clear. Long
spruce covered points reached out into its waters, which still
flowed so swiftly that instead of paddling we poled along the
shore. It was camping time when we reached the head of the lake,
where the river comes down round a fine gravel point in a decided
rapid.
George remarked: "That would be a fine place for Sunday camp."
"Then why not camp there?" I asked.
"Oh, no," he replied emphatically; "that would not do at all.
There would be no Sunday rest for me. I'd have to be watching you
all the time to keep you away from that rapid."
A little way up the river we came to another point which seemed
even finer than the one at the head of the lake, and on this we
made our Sunday camp. There was no noisy rapid here. On the
opposite shore a long wooded hill sloped down to a point a mile
above camp, round which the river came from the west.
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