第305章 AT THE SIGN OF THE BALSAM BOUGH(20)

Each one knew precisely his share of the enterprise. One sprang to chop a dry spruce log into fuel for a quick fire, and fell a harder tree to keep us warm through the night. Another stripped a pile of boughs from a balsam for the beds. Another cut the tent-poles from a neighbouring thicket. Another unrolled the bundles and made ready the cooking utensils. As if by magic, the miracle of the camp was accomplished.--"The bed was made, the room was fit, By punctual eve the stars were lit"--but Greygown always insists upon completing that quotation from Stevenson in her own voice; for this is the way it ends,--"When we put up, my ass and I, At God's green caravanserai."Our permanent camp was another day's voyage down the lake, on a beach opposite the Point Ausable. There the water was contracted to a narrow strait, and in the swift current, close to the point, the great trout had fixed their spawning-bed from time immemorial.