This romantic region has been proudly termed the Switzerland of Canada.
Its majestic hills--so grandly rugged--its placid lakes, and its
dense and undulating forests lend an indescribable enchantment to the
companion and lover of nature, who for the first time beholds their
supreme beauty. The tree-topped hills in their altitude are at times
lost in the clouds. The lumberman has not yet ventured to their summits.
He contents himself with a house in a more convenient and safer spot.
The monotony of the prevailing quietness around these spots is only
broken by the tiny little stream as it meanders on its course to the
bottom, where it refreshes the weary traveller who may perchance pass
that way. Tableland there is none except little patches of less than
an acre. The environments of this region are peculiarly suited to the
nature and tastes of the settlers, who will tell you that they would not
change them for all the gold you could offer. The means of access to the
villages, away from the railway, are extremely poor. The roads--if they
can be so called--offer little inducement to the tourist. The woods
adapt themselves to the security of the fugitive at all times and during
all seasons. In summer the verdant branches darken the surroundings,
while in the winter months the drooping boughs, appealing in their
solitude to nature, are sufficient in their loneliness to convince one
that to penetrate into their midst is by no means a safe venture.
Yet it was here that Donald spent his days and nights at this period.
Did Donald hesitate whether his bed was to be on feathers or branches?
No. His friends were always his first consideration, and did he for
a moment think that by spending a night at a friend's cabin he would
endanger their hospitality, he would quietly retire to the woods. His
bed consisted of a few balsam branches spread rudely on the ground,
with the overhanging boughs pulled down and by some means or other
transformed into a bower. This as a means of protection. When the snow
covered the ground to the depth of several feet, Donald did not change
his couch, but he made the addition of a blanket, which, next to his
firearms, he considered his greatest necessity. He slept well, excepting
when he was awakened by the roar of a bear or some other wild animal.
Then he simply mounted a tree, and with revolver cocked, awaited
his would-be intruder. His life in the woods--so full of exciting
events--was pleasant and safe. He never for a moment believed that he
could be caught were he to remain hidden among the towering pines.
Often--strong man as he was--would he allow his feelings to overcome him
when thinking of the possibilities which he believed life might have
had in store for him. The constant mental strain under which he found
himself seemed to affect but lightly his keen sense of vivacity. Wearily
did he pass some of his time amidst the verdancy of the woods. The sun
often rose and set unheeded by the fugitive. When darkness set in he
would furtively steal out to a friend's hut, where he would participate
in the frugal supper, and afterwards engage in the family worship, which
is never forgotten by the Highlanders.
He was always welcome wherever he went. He had no fear of being
betrayed. He knew his friends, and trusted them. Were he invited to
share the couch of his host, he would first ascertain whether all was
safe, and then stealthily enter.