lope directed to

Mr. "Bobbie."

Inside was this note, written in a small, firm hand:

"Lord Dunbridge presents his compliments to Mr. 'Bobbie,' and thanks him
for the enjoyable fish dinner tendered him last evening. And would Mr.
Bobbie kindly do him an additional favor? Would he come at six o'clock
to-morrow morning to assist a poor fisherman who has had no luck
to-day?"

That night Bob was a regular hero around the camp fire. The boys sang,
"He's a jolly good fellow," and a dozen other gay choruses, while
Bob looked to his tackle and bait, and gathered all the courage he
could muster to meet the great man in the morning. He need not have
trembled--it was no ordeal--for as he paddled up to the big camp a
quiet-looking gentleman with an iron gray moustache and kindly, genial
eyes, stepped down to the landing and held out his hand, and said,
"Good-morning, Bobbie. I hope we shall be friends. I have been most
unlucky; not a fish yesterday. We'll have to do better than that,
won't we?"

"Yes, sir--Yes, Your Excellency," said Bob, slowly trying to get his
nerves steady.

"I'm afraid my guides are very little good," said Lord Dunbridge, as he
carefully settled himself in the canoe. "They both profess to know these
waters, but they don't seem to be able to find any good fishing pools."

"I can do better than that," ventured Bob. "I have been around these
lakes every summer that I can remember. If, Your Excellency, you don't
mind, we'll paddle across to the outletting river. It's full of rapids,
and below them we'll find fish."

"Then we'll go there," replied His Excellency.

For one whole hour the great man and the great fisherman had sport that
a king might envy. Side by side they sat, or stood, baiting or reeling
in the heavy, gleaming bass, chatting, boasting, and eager for game.
It was a great morning's catch. A dozen noble fish testified to their
skill, when the pair, overcome with hunger, were compelled to put up
their rods and make for the camp and breakfast.

"We have had a glorious morning, haven't we, Bob?" said the Governor. "I
feel like a boy again, a boy playing truant, a boy who has ran away from
his big school of politicians at Ottawa, just to get a few days' fishing
and--and--oh, well, get away from it all."

There was a brief silence, then Lord Dunbridge continued, "Bob, you're a
boy; so was I once, but I think you'll understand. You Canadian boys do
seem to grasp things, some way or other. My