He asked
White, who only laughed, and said he'd find out soon enough by
experience.
After they had come to anchor and lowered the sails, White got an empty
water cask into the dinghy, saying that first of all they must go about
a mile to a trout stream at the head of the bay for some fresh water.
"Trout stream!" cited Cabot. "How I wish I had my fishing tackle.
Trout for supper would be fine."
"There are other things equally important with tackle for trout fishing
in this country," remarked White.
"What, for instance?"
"You'll know inside of half an hour," was the significant reply.
So they rowed up the bay, Cabot filled with curiosity and White
chuckling with anticipation. The further they went the more was Cabot
charmed with the beauty of the scene and the more desirous did he
become to ramble over the green slopes on which, as White assured him,
delicious berries of several varieties were plentiful. At length they
opened a charming valley, through which wound and tumbled a sparkling
brook thickly bordered by alders and birches. At one side were several
substantial log cabins, but as they were evidently uninhabited Cabot
began to undress, declaring that he must have a bath in that tempting
water.
"Better keep your shirt on until we have filled the cask," advised
White, at the same time stepping overboard in the shallows at the mouth
of the stream without removing any of his clothing.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129