“_Two souls with but a single thought_,”
of whom I am so fortunate as to be one, are summoned by that portion of
our united mind which has at once the right of putting the question and
of casting the deciding vote, to answer this conundrum: How can we go
abroad without crossing the ocean, and abandon an interesting family of
children without getting completely beyond their reach, and escape from
the frying-pan of housekeeping without falling into the fire of the
summer hotel? This apparently insoluble problem we usually solve by
going to camp in Canada.
It is indeed a foreign air that breathes around us as we make the
harmless, friendly voyage from Point Levis to Quebec. The boy on the
ferry-boat, who cajoles us into buying a copy of _Le Moniteur_
containing last month’s news, has the address of a true though
diminutive Frenchman. The landlord of the quiet little inn on the
outskirts of the town welcomes us with Gallic effusion as well-known
guests, and rubs his hands genially before us, while he escorts us to
our apartments, groping secretly in his memory to recall our names. When
we walk down the steep, quaint streets to revel in the purchase of
moccasins and water-proof coats and camping supplies, we read on a wall
the familiar but transformed legend, _L’enfant pleurs, il veut son
Camphoria_, and remember with joy that no infant who weeps in French can
impose any responsibility upon us in these days of our renewed
honeymoon.
But the true delight of the expedition begins when the tents have been
set up, in the forest back of Lake St. John, and the green branches have
been broken for the woodland bed, and the fire has been lit under the
open sky, and, the livery of fashion being all discarded, I sit down at
a log table to eat supper with my lady Greygown. Then life seems simple
and amiable and well worth living. Then the uproar and confusion of the
world die away from us, and we hear only the steady murmur of the river
and the low voice of the wind in the tree-tops. Then time is long, and
the only art that is needful for its enjoyment is short and easy. Then
we taste true comfort, while we lodge with Mother Green at the Sign of
the Balsam Bough.