On September 8th, the whole family went on an excursion to Isle St. Roch. This is a charming spot. On the island is a ledge of rocks, and seemingly carved on the stones can be seen the footprints of a man and those of a dog; they extend the length of half a mile and are then lost in a maze of tangled brushwood. The pious people of the place believe that St. Roch, the great hunter, came here long ago and left his footprints and those of his faithful dog. The ladies and girls roamed over the island gathering blue berries, and the boys caught a basket of fine fish. While they were resting, after a substantial luncheon, a shrill sound floated down from high overhead. Gazing up, Bolax traced aloft against the blue sky, the V-shaped phalanx, pointed southward of the wild goose--the swift Canadian bird by its own instinct following after summer heat.