I seemed to take advantage of them all, but
if my efforts were not much help they certainly furnished amusement
for the men. The task is a long one too, and it was nine o'clock
when supper was ready.
Job, who had been absent for some time, returned now with a report
that three-quarters of a mile further on we could again take the
river. Despite the day's work he looked all alive with interest
and energy. He loved to pole up a rapid or hunt out a trail just
as an artist loves to paint.
Supper over, we sat at the camp fire for a little while. The
sunset light still tinged the sky back of Mount Sawyer, and from
its foot came up the roar of the rapid. Now and again a bird's
evening song came down to us from the woods on the hill above, and
in the tent Joe was playing softly on the mouth organ, "Annie
Laurie" and "Comin' through the Rye." After I had gone to my tent
the men sang, very softly, an Indian "Paddling Song."
A stream of bright sunlight on the roof of my tent roused me on
Saturday morning, and mingling with the sound of the river came
again that of the "Paddling Song." At breakfast all were
exclaiming over the wonderful weather, George insisting that he did
not believe this could be Labrador at all.
