d assuring him that his English
is remarkable, good enough for all practical purposes, better than any
of the other guides can speak. And so it is.

Francois is a little taller, a little thinner, and considerably quieter
than Ferdinand. He laughs loyally at his brother's jokes, and sings the
response to his songs, and wields a good second paddle in the canoe.

Jean--commonly called Johnny--Morel is a tall, strong man of fifty, with
a bushy red beard that would do credit to a pirate. But when you look at
him more closely, you see that he has a clear, kind blue eye and a most
honest, friendly face under his slouch hat. He has travelled these woods
and waters for thirty years, so that he knows the way through them by a
thousand familiar signs, as well as you know the streets of the city. He
is our pathfinder.

The bow paddle in his canoe is held by his son Joseph, a lad not quite
fifteen, but already as tall, and almost as strong as a man. "He is yet
of the youth," said Johnny, "and he knows not the affairs of the camp.
This trip is for him the first--it is his school--but I hope he will
content you. He is good, M'sieu', and of the strongest for his age. I
have educated already two sons in the bow of my canoe. The oldest
has gone to Pennsylvanie; he peels the bark there for the tanning of
leather. The second had the misfortune of breaking his leg, so that he
can no longer kneel to paddle. He has descended to the making of shoes.
Joseph is my third pupil. And I have still a younger one at home waiting
to come into my school."

A touch of family life like that is always refreshing, and doubly so in
the wilderness. For what is fatherhood at its best, everywhere, but the
training of good men to take the teacher's place when his work is done?
Some day, when Johnny's rheumatism has made his joints a little stiffer
and his eyes have lost something of their keenness, he will be wielding
the second paddle in the boat, and going out only on the short and
easy trips. It will be young Joseph that steers the canoe through the
dangerous places, and carries the heaviest load over the portages, and
leads the way on the long journeys.

It has taken me longer to describe our men than it took them to prepare
our frugal meal: a pot of tea, the woodsman's favourite drink, (I never
knew a good guide that would not go without whisky rather than without
tea,) a few slices of toast and juicy rashers of bacon, a kettle of
boiled potatoes, and