“y–y–ye-es,” said roy, trembling in every limb, while his teeth rattled like small castanets, “i’m very c–c–c–cold, but i’m in luck, for i’ve g–g–g–got to-night’s s–s–s–supper, anyhow.”

this was true, but as he could not hope to procure many more suppers in the same fashion at that season of the year, he and his sister went off without delay to try the fishing.

they had brought a fishing-line and a few hooks, among other small things, from the indian camp. this line was now got out, overhauled, and baited with a bit of the young duck’s breast. from the end of the point of rocks, which had been named the wharf, the line was cast, for there the lake was deep.

“take the end of the line, nell; i want you to catch the first fish.”

“how d’ye know we shall catch—oh! oh—ooh!” the fish in silver lake had never seen a bait or felt a hook in their lives before that day. they actually fought for the prize. a big bully—as is usually the case in other spheres of life—gained it, and found he had “caught a tartar.” he nearly pulled nelly into the lake, but roy sprang to the rescue, and before the child’s shout of surprise had ceased to echo among the cliffs, a beautiful silvery fish, about a foot and a half long, lay tumbling on the strand.

“hurray!” cried roy. “try again.”

they did try again, and again, and over again, until they had caught two dozen and a half of those peculiar “white-fish” which swarm in most of the lakes of north america. then they stopped, being somewhat exhausted, and having more than enough for present use.

before sitting down to supper that night, they preserved their fish in the simple but effective manner which is practised among the fur-traders in cold weather, and which they had learned while with the indians. each fish was split open and cleaned out, and then hung up by the tail to dry.

“what a jolly time we shall have of it!” said roy, with his mouth full, as he sat beside nelly and toasted his toes that night at supper.

“yes,” said nelly—“if—if we were only a little nearer home.”

this reply made them both silent and sad for a time.

“never mind,” resumed roy, cheerily, as he began another white-fish—having already finished one fish and the duckling—“cheer up, nell, we’ll stay here long enough to get up a stock o’ dried meat, and then set off again. i only wish it would come frost, to make our fish keep.”

roy’s wish was gratified sooner than he expected, and much more fully than he desired.