Passing four of these lakes, we came to where the river flows in
from the south down three heavy rapids. On the west side of its
entrance to the lake we found the old trail. The blazing was
weather worn and old, but the trail was a good one, and had been
much used in the days long ago. The portage was little more than a
quarter of a mile long, and we put our canoes into the water again
in a tiny bay above the islands.
While the men took their loads forward I set up my fishing-rod for
the first time. Every day I had felt ashamed that it had not been
done before, but every day I put it off. I never cared greatly for
fishing, much as I had loved to be with my husband on the lakes and
streams. Mr. Hubbard could never understand it, for more than any
other inanimate thing on earth he loved a fishing-rod, and to whip
a trout stream was to him pure delight. As I made a few casts near
the foot of the rapid, my heart grew heavier every minute. I
almost hated the rod, and soon I took it down feeling that I could
never touch it again.
In the bay above the falls we saw a mother duck and her flock of
little ones, the first we had seen so far on our trip.
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