The carry was not a rough one, but to Theo, accustomed to the
smoothness of city pavements, it seemed very rough indeed. He was
continually stepping into holes or climbing over fallen tree-trunks,
and although a good walker, the pace the guides set made him
pant. Even Dr. Swift was forced to confess that he was out of breath
and was obliged now and then to stop and rest. Mr. Croyden, on the
contrary, swung along the narrow trail with the ease of an Indian.
"You will get into trim in a few days," he observed encouragingly to
Theo. "I myself am always stiff and slow until I get limbered up."
When, however, Owl Lake finally came into sight both Theo and his
father instantly forgot their fatigue.
There stretched the tiny sheet of water, a gem of flashing blue whose
calm surface mirrored the pines and delicate birches bordering its
margin.
The punt and canoe were launched, the tackle unpacked, and amid a
silence broken only by the dip of oar and paddle the fishermen drifted
out into the stillness.
Ah, it was a day never to be forgotten! Certainly Theo would never
forget it, for it was during the first half-hour of this Arabian
Night's dream that he proudly landed a beautiful lake trout, the first
one he had ever caught.
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