man and wife, utterly alone for fifteen years, — once or twice a year, perhaps, visited by lumbermen. Fifteen years alone with a wife! a trial, certainly, — not necessarily in the desponding sense of the word; not as Yankees have it, making trial a misfortune, but a test.
Mr. Killgrove entertained us with resinous-flavored talk. The voyage was unexcitingly pleasant. We passed an archipelago of scrubby islands, and, turning away from a blue vista of hills northward, entered a lovely curve of river richly overhung with arbor-vitæ, a shadowy quiet reach of clear water, crowded below its beautiful surface with reflected forest and reflected sky.
“Iglesias,” said I, “we divined how Mollychunkamug had its name; now, as to Moosetocmaguntic, — whence that elongated appellative?”
“It was named,” replied Iglesias, “from the adventure of a certain hunter in these regions. He was moose-hunting here in days gone by. His tale runs thus: — ‘I had been four days without game, and naturally without anything to eat except pine-cones and green chestnuts. There was no game in the forest. The trout would not bite, for I had no tackle and no hook. I was starving. I sat me down, and rested my trusty but futile rifle against a fallen tree. Suddenly I heard a tread, turned my head, saw a Moose, — took — my — gun, — tick! he was dead. I was saved. I feasted, and in gratitude named the lake Moosetocmaguntic.’ Geography has modified it, but the name cannot be misunderstood.”
