However that may have
been, we found ourselves on Wednesday morning not yet on Lake
Michikamau, and we did not reach it until 5.15 P.M. that day.
We started, expecting to paddle straight away west into the great
lake. As we glided out on what proved to be, after all, another
lake instead of an arm of Michikamau, we saw that land, not water,
stretched across the western horizon. South from our island camp
the shore of the lake was a low ridge sloping to the water in three
distinct terraces, moss-covered and smooth as a carefully kept
lawn, with here and there a clump of stunted fir trees. Four miles
to the west the ridge terminated in a low point.
As we crossed the lake Job remarked that there was some current
here. On nearing the point we were startled by a sudden
exclamation from him. He had caught sight of a freshly cut chip on
the water. We stopped, and the chip was picked up. The two canoes
drew together, when it was examined closely, and an animated
discussion in Indian went on. It was all interesting to watch, and
a revelation to me to see an ordinary little chip create so much
excitement. How much a seeming trifle may mean to the "Children of
the Bush," or for that matter to any other "children," who see the
meaning of things.
