the office he was
even more enthusiastic than LeNoir in his admiration of De Lacy.

"I never saw the likes of him," he said. "He could bring the birds out
of the trees with that tongue of his. Indeed, I could not have done what
he did whatever. Man, but he is a gentleman!"

"And are you going this evening?"

"That I am," said Ranald. "What else could I do? I could not help
myself; he made me feel that mean that I was ready to do anything."

"All right," said Harry, delighted, "I will take my canoe around for you
after six."

"And," continued Ranald, with a little hesitation, "he told me he would
be wearing a jersey and duck trousers, and I think that was very fine of
him."

"Why, of course," said Harry, quite mystified, "what else would he
wear?"

Ranald looked at him curiously for a moment, and said: "A swallow-tail,
perhaps, or a blanket, maybe," and he turned away leaving Harry more
mystified than ever.

Soon after six, Harry paddled around in his canoe, and gave the stern to
Ranald. What a joy it was to him to be in a canoe stern again; to feel
the rush of the water under his knees; to have her glide swiftly on her
soundless way down the full-bosomed, sunbathed river; to see her put her
nose into the little waves and gently, smoothly push them asunder with
never a splash or swerve; to send her along straight and true as an
arrow in its flight, and then flip! flip to swing her off a floating
log or around an awkward boat lumbering with clumsy oars. That was to be
alive again. Oh, the joy of it! Of all things that move to the will of
man there is none like the canoe. It alone has the sweet, smooth glide,
the swift, silent dart answering the paddle sweep; the quick swerve
in response to the turn of the wrist. Ranald felt as if he could have
gladly paddled on right out to the open sea; but sweeping around a bend
a long, clear call hailed them, and there, far down at the bottom of a
little bay, at the foot of the big, scarred, and wrinkled rock the smoke
and glimmer of the camp-fire could be seen. A flip of the stern paddle,
and the canoe pointed for the waving figure, and under the rhythmic
sweep of the paddles, sped like an arrow down the waters, sloping to the
shore. There, on a great rock, stood Kate, directing their course.

"Here's a good landing," she cried. Right at the rock dashed the canoe
at full speed. A moment more and her dainty nose would be battered out
of all shape on the cruel rock, but a str