so we can make a good haul.  Disheartening in extreme to be working all the time in rain and wind and cold.  I made a map this A.M. of our long portage—­about 30 miles.  Will require about seven days.  Wallace and I stretched tarpaulin by fire and sat long beneath it chatting.  Wallace is a great comfort these evenings.  There has been no friction this trip whatever.  I think I’ll get a bully story out of it despite our failure to find the Nascaupees.  I’ll get more in freezing up, more in Northwest River people and more in the winter journey to God’s country.

Friday, September 18th.—­Temp. 38 degrees 6 A.M.  S.E. wind, turning to N.W. gale about noon.  Raw and snow by spells.  Caught three namaycush in AM., then wind bound by fierce N.W. gale at camp.  Wallace caught 2 1/2 lbs. trout.  I caught 1 lb.  Namaycush heads and guts and my trout for supper.  Boiled with last of flour.  Hungry and a bit weak, but all cheerful.  Sat late by roaring camp fire.  Very depressing this, getting wind bound so often just when we are trying to get fish ahead for our long portage towards home.  Have thought a good deal about home.  It seems to me I’ll never be willing to leave it again.  I don’t believe I’ll want any more trips too hard for M. to share.  Her companionship and our home life are better than a great trip.  So it seems to me.

Saturday, September 19th.—­Rain and snow last night, temp. 32 degrees.  Gale from northwest all day.  Wind bound in camp all day.  Lay in tent almost all the time.  Spits of snow.  No breakfast.  Bit of fish and its liquor for lunch.  Same with a dash of pea meal at night.  Oh! to be away from this lake and its gales and to be started home!  Last night we quit rolling in blankets and made bed to keep warm.  All three crawled in.  Warmer than other way.  Quite comfortable all night.  Plan a great deal for the future.  I am planning to give more time to home.  Less fretting and more home life.  I’ve let my ambitions worry me.  More time for my meals when I get home and more for my wife and our friends.  I want to give one or two little dinners in the woods when we get back and while George is there.  A turkey roast like a goose.  Stuffed.  Potatoes, bannocks, made while the turkey is roasting, one of George’s puddings, coffee and maple cream.

Sunday, September 20th.—­Temp. 6 A.M. 29 degrees.  Morning bright and clear.  Light N.W. wind.  Showers in P.M.  Squally.  To-night we are starting for Northwest River Post.  When we reach the big river we can I think nearly live on the fish we get there.  From there too, there are more signs of caribou.  About four days more and we ought to reach a remnant of flour we threw away.  It was wet and lumpy, but we will welcome it now.  It, if it is usable, will see us to the head of Grand Lake, where Skipper Blake has a cache, I think, in a winter hunting shanty.  It promises to be a hungry trip, but it is a man’s game.  Now that we are starting home I am content with the trip and the material.  We’ve done all we could.  Our minds turn to home even more and we are anxious to be back.  So hungry to see all the old friends.