P. Lajeunesse was the name on the sign, which displayed a vegetable wonder of the painter’s art meant for a maple tree, for Madame Lajeunesse kept the Maple Inn.  That lady, a portly brunette, with a pleasant smile and a merry twinkle in her eye, received the distinguished guests in person.  Wilkinson replied to her bow and curtsey with a dignified salutation, but the lawyer shook hands with her, saying:  “I hope you’re very well, Madame; it’s a lovely place you have here.”  Madame replied that it was lofely when the moustique was not, and summoned Pierre to help the dominie off with his knapsack, saying “permettit me,” as she unfastened the straps of Coristine’s, and removed that burden, which she deposited upon a table in the sitting-room adjoining the hall.  Pierre, a bald-headed French-Canadian, hiding his lack of hair under a red tuque, and sporting a white moustache of large dimensions, arrived too late to help the schoolmaster, but he elevated his eyebrows, grimaced, rubbed his hands, and slid his feet apart, in pleased welcome.

“Ze chentlemans ave come to feesh lika many in ze springa monses?  Feeshing not so coot as zen, bot in ze cool place vare is oles onder ze trees feesh lorrik.  Is zat spoken correct, zat vord lorrik?  I ave learn it from Meestare Bulky.  O, a ver great feesherman.”

Wilkinson replied that lurk was an excellent word, and very expressive of the conduct of fish in warm weather, explaining that he was no fisherman himself, but that his friend was attached to that kind of sport.

“Dinnare, Messieu, in one hour,” remarked Madame, as she returned to her duties.

“Where can I get fishing tackle, landlord?” asked the lawyer.

“At ze store, zare is onelly one.  You vill not lose yourself long in zisa city,” replied mine host with an attempt at wit.

Wilkinson remained in the cool parlour, inspecting the plates on the walls and a few books on a side table.  The latter were chiefly poor novels in English, left by former guests as not worth taking home, but among them was a thoroughly French paper-bound copy of Alphonse Karr’s Voyage autour de mon Jardin.  Falling into an easy chair, the schoolmaster surrendered himself to the charming style and subtle humour of this new found treasure.

The lawyer went straight to Mr. Bigglethorpe’s store, and found himself, at the time, its sole customer.  The proprietor was an Englishman of some five and thirty years, tall and thin, wearing a long full beard and overhanging moustache.  He sold fishing tackle and was himself a fisherman, the latter being the reason why he had come to the Beaver River and set up store.  It occupied him when fishing was poor, and helped to check the consumption of his capital.  Before he married, he locked the door, when the fishing was good, and put the key in his pocket, but now Mrs. Bigglethorpe minded the shop in his absence.  Having supplied Coristine with hooks and lines, and recommended