220 OVER ON THE ISLAND

drained and, lo, and behold, a bottom appeared—a bottom filled with light mud. Then, the sides caved in, and to—day, its crater still stands there full of slimy mud covered with a camouflage of greenish growth. On the north-east side a spring gushes up but the lake has no visible outlet.

The bottomless lake is gone. Its little day is over. And with its departure goes the one beauty spot of the dusty old western road. Here, in the fall, the vari- coloured autumn leaves provided a beautiful back- ground for the shining waters. Here the berry pickers timorously wandered near its edges, enchanted by its serene enticing surface. Here the wild birds swooped and sang with joy, conscious of their natural mirror. No longer now. The fringe of trees in the background will now be nothing but a fringe instead of an ebony setting for an ever-varying picture. No longer will the sun go to rest in a flame of colour in its waters.

The bottomless lake is drained.

The next important notice on the western road is the place where you turn off. Turn to the right near St. Anthony’s chapel and follow along through Fortune Cove. At the top of the second hill turn to the left. Then keep your eyes on the road if you can —but you probably cannot. You will glance at the road; then your eyes will light on Mill River, its sparkling waters hemmed in by bright red banks. The road turns—~and you just make it, narrowly missing that clump of sleepy trees. Then it winds on thin and straight, and a hollow suddenly falls into View. The river glides on. Just beyond and behind a small building you see a grove, and to the right another one of slender white birch. You hesitate while you are parking the car. Which will you visit