Tuesday, September 22nd.—­Temp. 38 degrees.  N.W. wind.  Rain in morning and by spells all day.  All feel stronger today than yesterday.  Tried to stalk goose in bad swamp.  Missed at long range.  Waded above knees in mud and water to get shot.  Portaged all day mostly through low or swampy ground.  Happy to be going home.  Camped tonight on second old camping-ground.  George and Wallace brought up outfit while I made camp and got wood.

Wednesday, September 23rd.—­Rain by spells.  W. wind.  Clear in evening and cold.  Portaged all day.  Crossed barren ridge.  Had big feed of moss-berries and cranberries.  Wallace had apparent tea sickness and vomited.  Erbswurst same as yesterday.  Feel quite weak to-night.  Had carried canoe a good deal.  A good deal depressed till camp fire.  Then good again.  Bright, crisp night.  Dried clothing and got warm.  Talked long by fire of home.  Blankets very damp.  Hard time keeping warm at night.

Thursday, September 24th.—­Temp. 28 degrees.  N.E. wind.  Snowing in morning.  Quite cold last night, but clear and crisp till toward morning when it snowed.  Blankets very damp, but by drying clothes at fire and getting good and warm, we slept warm and well.  Dreamed M. and I were at Missanabie.  How I do wish I could see her again at home.  Thinking too much maybe, about home now.  Makes too big contrast.  Snow covered ground by noon.  Disagreeable morning, but a little crisp wintriness helped it some.  Plodded along on a pea soup breakfast, wondering what the outcome will be—­a little.  Nasty weather makes one wonder—­and thinking of M. and home.  Then came a happy event.  George had said last night be could kill a wild goose this A.M. if I would let him take rifle.  Did so, half convinced by his confidence, and knowing he was a big goose shooter down on “The Bay.”  He had started ahead.  Had seen flock light in pond ahead.  Wallace and I heard four shots.  Came to where George had left pack.  He was coming with no goose.  “You can kick me,” said he, “but I got a goose.”  We took canoe to his pond.  He had killed one goose, which was drifting ashore, and wounded another, which sat on shore and let George end it with a pistol.  Never was goose more gladly received I’ll venture.  I promised George two cook-books and a dinner as a reward.

Friday, September 25th.—­Temp. 28 degrees.  Wind N.E.  Snow squalls.  Half goose breakfast.  Pea soup, thin, for dinner.  Half goose, supper.  Goose is bully.  When done eating we burn the bones and chew them.  Nasty day.  Portaged to old camp on small lake and stopped.  All day I have been thinking about childhood things and the country.  I want to get into touch with it again.  I want to go to Canada, if possible, for Christmas.  I want to go somewhere in sugar making.  So homesick for my sweetheart.  Fairly strong despite short grub.