202 OVER ON THE ISLAND

holding a beautiful black umbrella over my head), she continued.

Even that did not seem to impress our dark-eyed friends.

“Ogumoolchintasmskugeboonei ” (I am eighty years old): “Wisowkogunakunik” (I am daubed with green paint); “ Mesaltogwae” (My hair has never been cut), I tried again.

Still they didn’t quiver an eyelash.

“Kasegodulool” (I wash your face), I said aloud, and climbed into the ferry.

Lennox Island has been a favourite theme for Island poets. Even the “Island Minstrel” could not overlook the place.

First of the throng, and pride of Richmond Bay, Romantic Lennoxl let me turn to thee; Around thy beach how Fancy loves to stray, And trace the beauty of thy scenery! Home of the exil’d Micmacs’ dwindled race, Still in thy shades their ruined camps they spread, And here, perforce, restricted in the chase, They cultivate the soil for daily bread. Here also stands in pleasing prospect fair, And sheds a hallow'd grace, the Indian‘s house of prayer.

Then came Rand with the pathetic story of “The Dying Indian’s Dream.”

With matchless skill

He could hunt and kill,

The moose and the cariboo,

And smoothly ride

On the rolling tide,

In the light and frail canoe;

Though in angry gusts the tempest blew, Though the thunders roared,

And the torrents poured,