“God gives us with our rugged soil
The power to make it Eden fair,
And richer fruits to crown our toil
Than summer-wedded islands bear.

Who murmurs at his lot to-day?
Who scorns his native fruit and bloom?
Or sighs for dainties far away
Beside the bounteous board of home.

Thank Heaven instead that Freedom’s arm
Can change a rocky soil to gold,
That brave and generous lives can warm
A clime with northern ices cold.’’

— Whittier.

I WILL pass lightly over the next two or three years. There were no great changes :n our family circle. My father had left Dale End and had removed to his own clearing in Hathaway’s Bay, where he had built a rude log shanty for present use, intending to put up a better house after a time. Ben had left school—was indeed growing quite a man —and now spent his time entirely with father in Muskoka. My brother Joe was married to a Scotch-Canadian girl, a farmer’s daughter, and had one little daughter, also named after me. This “baby Nancy,” though, was a complete contrast to her cousin ; she was a dark-haired little gipsy. I used to call them my blonde and brunette beauties. My sister Sue was on the high road to matrimony, and even our little Winnie was beginning to follow in her footsteps,—but more of this later.

We had been now’ six years living in Toronto. Five of these I had been employed in the same store, and I had never yet had an opportunity of visiting Muskoka. In all these years I had been given no holidays, with the exception of the days set apart as public holidays. This was before the time of early closing —the stores were open from eight in the morning till nine or ten at night, even later on Saturdays. Think of that, you lucky employees of Eaton’s and Simpson’s, and I hear even you indulge in an occasional grumble. Thank your stars you are now in the twentieth century. On the public holidays, of course, we had taken all the pleasure we could; we had been to Niagara Falls two or three times, to Grimsby camp grounds once, and many times for quiet family picnics up the Humber River This was all I had seen of Canada so far, but this summer I was to see Muskoka.

I had leave of absence for two weeks. Fourteen days to revel in country freedom. Think of it, and try to imagine my feelings. Winnie was already up there staying with father at his shanty on the farm, and now my turn had come at last.

Now, you must not think because I had not yet seen this country with my mortal eyes that I was in a state of ignorance as regards it. No! Muskoka had been talked of, described, explained, by every member of our family who had seen it, till I had the whole thing in my mind as plainly as it were drawn on a map; indeed, “after-dinner maps,” as you might call them, were continually’ being drawn on our tablecloths illustrating the Muskoka lakes and the position of the Hathaway domicile. We used to take the cruet for a starting place, the sugar bowl for the terminus, the salt cellars for islands, a meandering stream of bread crumbs for the boat’s course, and in this manner I became so familiarized with the geography of the lakes that I believe I almost could have steered the vessel myself from Gravenhurst onwards. So don’t think for a moment that I came as a stranger to Muskoka, for I was most intimately acquainted in one sense.

The Muskoka Navigation Company had by this time advanced so far as to send one of their boats—I think it was the old Nipissing—twice a week to the head of I.ake Joseph. This boat passed through the cut between the two lakes at Port Sandfield, and this was now the nearest point to my father's land, some miles nearer than Port Carling: so thither I was to go. We had written father the week previous, telling him which day I was coming, and Ren was to meet me with the rowboat. Notwithstanding this, I was given minute directions by both mother and Ret in case there should be any misunderstanding and I found nobody awaiting me; all of which extra precautions came in most usefully, as you will hear.

It was a lovely morning near the end of July when I set forth, Bet and Sue walking with me to the little station behind the Market, from which the Northern trains used to start. We were all three laden like pack-horses, with baskets and bundles of every size and shape. I had an axe-handle and rake for father, a fishing-rod and trawl for Ben, a big cake and plum pudding from mother, some pots of jam and half a ham from Bet, besides sundry other articles in the edible line contributed by myself. These, with my clothes and some belongings of Winnie’s, made quite a formidable pile. Still we could not resist the temptation, as we passed the Market, of adding two or three other little dainties to our store.

“Such a treat to them, poor things,” we murmured in excuse, “they don’t get much up there.” The girls came in the car with me, and after all my properties were disposed of, between and under the seats, bade me a loud farewell, wishing over and over again that they were going with me, and sending countless messages to those already there.

I found plenty to interest me after the tram started in looking out of the windows, for the country was all new to me. I could not help, too, contrasting the convenience of the cars here with the old third-class carriages in England; but they have improved upon them since those days. As we approached Barrie became more interested, as mother had often described the beautiful bay there, and the way in which Allandale and Barrie were situated opposite to each other. I was also interested because I had been told that here I could procure a cup of tea, so I opened my lunch basket, for 1 had been too excited in the morning to eat much breakfast.

Hearing the conductor, as we slowed up, call out, “Twenty minutes for refreshments!” I dismounted, and went into the little station. It was rather a poor, dismal-looking place in those days. The “refreshment room” had one bare counter, and a few plates of eatables, very uninviting looking, were scattered about on its surface.

A pert-looking girl behind it (who was busily engaged in flirting with one of the train hands) responded to my modest request for a cup of tea by thumping down in front of me a very thick cup, about half filled with a dark-colored, strongly-smelling fluid supposed to be tea. I added some milk and swallowed the decoction, meanwhile handing her a quarter in payment, meekly waiting, when I had finished, for my change; but the maid, taking no further notice of me, still continued her flirtation.

I ventured after awhile to interrupt her by saying “There is fifteen cents coming to me, I believe.”

“No! there ain’t anything coming to you,” she replied, “the tea is a quarter.”

“Oh! but,” I said, “look at the card on the wall behind you,” where in large letters was printed on the list, “Cup of tea, 10c.”

“Well,” she said, “that means it’s loc when you buy your lunch here, and 25c. when you don’t.”

For a moment I was struck dumb with amazement, then my indignation arose and I once more demanded my change, instantly, for the train was going. All to no purpose, for with an insolent smirk she still refused to hand out the money. I hated to go after being so gulled and leave her triumphant, yet I knew I must; but my glance happened to fall on a dirty-looking pumpkin pie, and snatching it up, I said, “Well! I’ll have this instead of change, anyway,” and made a rush for the cars, already starting to move, regained my seat and had the immense satisfaction of smashing up the pie and throwing it out of the window as we left the station. I hope no poor dog was poisoned with the remnants.

To this day 1 never pass Allandale station but I laugh at the recollection of this adventure, though at the time I was in anything but a laughing mood.

Mr. Roberts told me a more laughable; story still, of this same station. He was going down to Toronto from Muskoka with two friends, and they were very hungry when they arrived at Allandale. One of the friends entered the waiting-room first and approached the afore-mentioned counter to find out what he could get. Seeing three or four sausage rolls under a glass cover, he lifted it and took one, bit a piece off, spat it out in his hand and made for the door. Mr. Roberts, meanwhile, knowing nothing of this, entered and was also tempted to take a sausage roll. He acted exactly as his friend had done, whom he met at the door returning after disposing of his too savory morsel.

The third friend at this moment approached, and the two winked at each other and waited to see the fun. Number three innocently approached the counter, spied the sausage rolls, smacked his lips, lifted the lid and took one. After biting it, however, he did not act as the others had done; he quickly popped it back again under the cover and walked off in an unconcerned way, pretending to whistle till he could find an opportunity of ejecting the piece in his mouth.

At this moment the attendant (a man this time, perhaps the proprietor) returned with the tea which number one had ordered on entering. He immediately spotted the mutilated roll under the glass, and demanded, in thundering tones, “Who bit that roll?”

The other two denied the charge, but satisfied him by paying for the three rolls, and returned to the train as hungry as ever, but wisely agreeing, after having a hearty laugh over it, to wait till they reached Toronto before attempting another feed. (N.B.—The rolls must have been under the cover a month.) But I must return to my story.

After passing Orillia and Lake Couchiching, it did not seem long before we arrived at Muskoka Wharf and saw the Nipissing awaiting us. Here I had, for the first time, though by no means the last, the pleasant experience of travelling back and forth, five or six times, between the cars and the boat, with my numerous belongings, before I got them al1 safely aboard. This was due, I dare say my readers will say, to my condition of single blessedness; but I fancy, nay, am even sure, I have seen ladies who are the proud possessors of husbands occasionally doing the same thing.

The Navigation Company’s boats, at this time, used to travel first up the river to Bracebridge and back, then go on up Lake Muskoka to Port Carling; so this afforded me an opportunity of seeing the windings of that pretty river which I had so often heard mother enthusiastically describe. I enjoyed this part of the journey very much. About half way up the river we passed the Muntz homestead, and in this I was interested, for they were an old Warwickshire family; Once, when I was a child, I went on a visit to an uncle in Birmingham, who was a warm personal friend of their family. It was the time of the elections, and Mr. Muntz was the Liberal candidate. I rode in the carriage with my uncle to the polling place. I remember there was a tremendous crowd around, and while I was waiting outside I heard them cheering. I said to uncle, when he came out, “What were they cheering for?” and he replied, “Oh! that was when I said ‘Plump for Muntz.’ ” A very mysterious saying to me, but he afterwards kindly explained its meaning. Now the next time I come across the name is far away in the winds of Muskoka. The world is not so wide after all, as I often remark.

After we had passed through the locks at Port darling and were out on Lake Rosseau, I began to look out for the “Sandy Portage” as we used to call it in those days: and when we sighted the high black bridge (now a vanished landmark of the past) my heart beat high at the thought that now I should see a familiar loved face, either father's or Benny’s, perhaps both But, alas for the vanity of earthly hopes! when I had been dumped unceremoniously out into the sand-bank on the side of the cut, with all my baggage surrounding me, I saw no boat, no friendly face—in fact, no face at all was there, except my own disconsolate visage, which lengthened considerably as I gazed after the rapidly disappearing steamer.

What was to be done? I sat down on my biggest bundle to think. After thinking—which brought small comfort—I got up and began to look around. I walked up to the Rosseau end of the cut, and there, moored out in the middle of the bay, I saw a small fishing yacht. It was apparently deserted, but as I looked at it my spirits rose and courage returned. If there were fishing yachts in the neighborhood there must be fishermen, and I was not, as I had imagined for a few minutes past, in quite as bad a plight as Robinson Crusoe, singing, “Oh solitude, whore are thy charms?” I pursued my investigations. I walked to the other end of the canal—Lake Joseph—and here, to my delight, I saw a rowboat pulled up on the sandy shore, and a little farther away a party of young fellows fishing.

Now, to go back to those parting instructions which I told you had been given me before leaving Toronto, if it should happen that I found no one to meet me on arriving at Port Sandfield, I was to try and get someone with a boat to row me across the bay on the Lake Joseph side, to a farm house, which was plainly visible from the bridge, wherein dwelt a man known to my father, who would row me up to Hathaway's Bay. I at once acted on these directions, and boldly approached the fishing party. “Excuse me,” I began, “but I was expecting my brother to meet me here with a boat, as I have to go quite a distance up Lake Joseph. I am afraid my friends cannot have received my letter, as there is no one here; but if I could only get across to that house (pointing to it with my finger) there is a man lives there who would take me up the lake. I see you have a boat; will one of you be good enough to row me across?” They looked at one another and there was a hurried consultation, then one of the party stepped forward and offered his services. I thanked him and said I had a whole lot of packages lying under the bridge, so he proceeded to empty the boat of their own belongings before filling it with mine. I noticed they were well stocked with provisions, for he took out big lumps of plum cake, wedges of cheese, boxes of soda biscuits and various bottles, besides a big tea kettle.

After the exchange had been effected, and we had pushed off, I had, as I was seated in the stern and facing him, for the first time a full view of my companion’s face. I said, “Pardon me, but is your name Barrington?" He said, “Yes." I said, “Have you a sister named Nellie Barrington?” and again he said, “Yes,” looking at me with surprise (he was a good-looking young fellow, tall and fair). “Well,” I said to him, “I know your sister very well; we attend the same church, and I have once or twice seen you; perhaps you have heard her speak of Ann Hathaway.” Yes he had, so in this way we soon became friendly and were chatting away quite pleasantly before we had crossed the bay. He left me in the boat on our arrival at the shore and went up to the house to make enquiries. Another disappointment—the man was away with his boat and would not be home till late at night.

Fortunately, however, I had one more string to my bow. I said to Mr. Barrington, “Will you mind taking me about a quarter of a mile farther on. There is an old fisherman named Noble, who knows father well, and who has boats, too, and I think he would take me up.” So we started a second time; but when we reached the old fisherman’s wharf we were foiled again. Mr. Barrington went up to his little shanty, but the door was fastened and no soul around the place. This was a worse dilemma than ever.

I told Mr. Barrington he had better land me and my bundles on the little wharf and leave me there, for I did not feel like imposing any more on his kindness. I assured him the old fisherman would most likely be home soon, and that I should be all right. But he would not consent to this arrangement at all. He asked me how much farther it was to my father’s place, and I told him as nearly as I could. He then good naturedly said he would take me all the way. I protested, but with no effect, so I had to give in, and again we made a start.

The only thing which bothered him was that his companions could not get back to their yacht, he having the boat away. But tie settled the matter by saying, “I am not going to desert a lady in distress, and I shall be back again before dark.” I had the inward satisfaction of knowing that his comrades would not starve, anyway, with all the eatables on hand which I had seen removed from the boat, so said no more.

I soon discovered my companion to be a fine oarsman. Our boat fairly danced over the water. Many times have I gone over the same course since, but I think he did it that evening in about half the time we have ever accomplished the same distance in. As we got farther up the lake he was inclined to argue with me about the route- -even as good as told roe I knew' nothing about it. But I stuck to my guns like a Trojan, and when we rounded the last point and came in full view of the beautiful bay, I cried, “There it is! what a picture!’’ Just as mother had described it—the cleared land lying all round the shore, planted with oats, which were so high and green they had completely hidden the disfiguring old stumps, so that it looked like one large field of waving green.

My companion, though, still remained incredulous, and was even rather unwilling to turn the boat down the bay. But just at this moment I espied another boat in the distance, two figures in it, one rowing, the other trawling. I had a strong suspicion who they were, and asked Mr. Barrington to shout to them. Then I lowered the parasol 1 was carrying completely over my figure, so as to surprise them when they drew closer. My companion called out, “Is this Mr. Hathaway’s place?” They looked round and started to approach us. Sure enough, it was Winnie and Ben. I did not let them see me till the boats touched: then what joyful exclamations, followed by explanations. They had never received my letter. Port Carling, then the nearest post-office, was a long way off. and they had all been busy with the hay. We could see my father hurrying down to the landing-place to see who his visitors were. But after he had put me ashore nothing would induce Mr. Barrington to stay and have tea with us before starting on his return journey, he hurried off as if to escape from our thanks.

And now, for fear any of my young lady readers should grow rather suspicious and imagine this to be the opening chapter of a romance, I may as well, here and now, dispel such illusions by asserting the fact, undeniably true, from that day to this I have never again set eyes on that kind young man. I hope he is still alive; he may perchance see this story and recognise himself as its hero. If so, he will at least know that his kindness to a stranger has not been forgotten.