The attentive reader, if I am so fortunate as to have one, will bear in mind that all I have thus far written is but a repetition of the story the canvas canoe told me on that bright afternoon when I was first introduced to him and to the other merry fellows—the long bows, the snow-shoes and the toboggan—who found a home in Joe Wayring’s room. In concluding his interesting narrative the canoe said:
“Now, Fly-rod, you know every thing of importance that has happened since Tom Bigden and his cousins first stuck their quarrelsome noses inside Mount Airy. As I said at the start, it was necessary that you should hear the story, or else you would be at a loss to account for a good many things that may happen to you sooner or later. I have an idea that you are a good sort, and hope we shall pass many pleasant hours in each other’s company.”
I thanked the canoe for his kind wishes and for the story he had taken so much pains to tell me, and inquired how he had managed to live through the long winter that had just passed.
“Oh, I did well enough,” was his reply. “In the first place, the long bows and I had much to talk about, and in the next, Joe often brings Roy and Arthur up here to spend an evening; and as they have traveled a good deal, they are never at a loss for some interesting topic of conversation. More than that, Joe and his uncle went off hunting last December, and when they returned, they brought with them those conceited things over there—the snow-shoes and toboggan—who being from another country, think they are a trifle better than any body else. But, after all, I have found them to be very companionable fellows, and if you can only get them started (like all Englishmen, they are inclined to be surly at first), they can tell you some things about shooting and trapping that are well worth listening to.”
“Do you know what the programme is for the summer?” I asked, being somewhat anxious to learn what I had to look forward to. “Where are we going and what are we going to do?”
“Well, seeing that this is April, it will not be summer for three months to come,” replied the canoe. “But you need not expect to remain idle any longer than next Saturday. You and I will probably be employed in making short trips about the village until school closes for the long vacation. Immediately after the canoe meet, which in future will be held on the 3rd of July, so that the members of the club can have the whole of the vacation to themselves, you and Joe will go up to Indian Lake—”