a man that pleased them ten
dollars."

Weston's face flushed a little, but he said he would go; and the next
day the party started up-river in two Indian canoes. Besides Weston
and the dark-skinned Siwash packers, it consisted of four: a tall,
elderly man called Kinnaird, with the stamp of a military training
plain upon him; his little, quiet wife; his daughter, who was somewhat
elaborately dressed; and Ida Stirling. Kinnaird and his daughter
traveled in the larger canoe with the Indians and the camp gear, and
Mrs. Kinnaird and Miss Stirling with Weston in the other.

Though Weston was more or less accustomed to the work, he found the
first few hours sufficiently arduous. It is not an easy matter to
propel a loaded canoe against a strong stream with a single paddle,
and it is almost as difficult to pole her alone; while there were two
long portages to make, when the craft and everything in them had to be
hauled painfully over a stretch of very rough boulders. Kinnaird took
his share in it, and Weston was quite willing to permit him to do so;
but the latter was floundering toward the canoes alone, with a heavy
load on his shoulders, when he came to a sharply sloped and slippery
ledge of rock. It was very hot in the deep valley, and the white
stones and flashing river flung up a blaze of light into his eyes;
while he limped a little under his burden, for his foot was still
painful. He had no idea that anybody was watching him; and, when he
slipped and, falling heavily, rolled down part of the slope,
scattering the packages about him, he relieved his feelings with a few
vitriolic comments upon the luxurious habits of the people who had
compelled him to carry so many of their superfluous comforts through
the bush. Then he set about gathering up the sundries he had dropped.
First of all he came upon a lady's parasol, white outside and lined
with green. He regarded it with a rueful smile when he had tried and
failed to open it.

"Trouble ahead," he commented. "It cost eight or nine dollars anyway,
and now it's broken."

Then he came to a rather big valise, which swung open and poured out
part of its contents when he lifted it by the handle. They seemed to
consist of voluminous folds of delicate fabric and lace, and he was
gazing at them and wondering how they were to be got back into the bag
when he heard a voice behind him.

"Will you kindly put that down?" it said.

Weston dropped the bag in his astonishment; and,