His French Canadian father, Joe Gagneau, "Ol' Joe," was a survival of a bygone age, the glorious golden age of the river and the bush, of the shanty and the raft, of the axe and the gun, the age of Canadian romance, of daring deed, of wild adventure.
"An' it ees half-hour too queek," persisted Joe.

"Come on hup to de dam." A little worn path invited their feet from the curving road, and following their feet, they found themselves upon a steep embankment which dammed the waters into a pond that formed the driving power for the grist mill standing near.

At the farther end of the pond a cedar bush interposed a barrier to the sight and suggested mysterious things beyond.

Back of the cedar barrier a woods of great trees, spruce, balsam, with tall elms and maples on the higher ground beyond, offered deeper mysteries and delights unutterable.

They knew well the cedar swamp and the woods beyond.