nd bring
it home to his father? He went tearing down the hill, Collie leaping
at his side. Peter Fiddle had said that the reason more folks did not
get the rainbow gold and be rich and happy ever after, was because they
did not go after it right at once. For the pot of gold did not hang
there very long, and might slip into the water with a big splash any
minute, and be gone forever. So the Lad ran in frantic haste, and the
dog bounded ahead and nearly rushed into the water, in his mistaken
idea that he was to catch the gulls that came swooping so near and were
off and away before he could snap. The old green boat belonging to his
father was lying on its side half in the water; the Lad tugged at it
madly without moving it an inch. He glanced about him and spied with
delight Peter Fiddle's canoe lying upside down under the birches.
Peter worked for his father, when not away fishing or playing the
fiddle or spinning yarns; and when he went away by land his canoe was
always at home, and sometimes the Lad had paddled out in it alone. He
pulled and tugged at it manfully, and after great exertions that left
him panting, he managed to launch it. Collie, just returned from a mad
charge after the gulls, leaped in beside him. The boy seized the
paddle and pushed off hurriedly. He seated himself on the thwart and
looked out to get his direction. Yes, there it still hung, away out
there at the end of the island, gleaming bigger and brighter than ever.
The canoe was large, and the paddle clumsy, but he was filled with such
a passion to get that gold that he made wonderful progress. He leaned
far over the side, splashing the heavy paddle into, the water, until,
what with his unsteady stroke, his dangerous position on the thwart,
and Collie's mad attempts to catch the passing gulls, the wonder was
that the rainbow expedition did not come to grief as soon as it was
launched. But the Lad had been brought up on the water, and had
already had many a lesson in canoeing from Peter Fiddle, and, after the
first excitement, he realised his mistake. So he slid to his knees and
ordered Collie to the bottom of the canoe in front of him. Then,
gazing intently ahead, he paddled, in a zigzag course, out towards the
wonderful golden haze.

Somehow it had a strange, elusive way of seeming to be in one place and
then appearing in another. The canoeist grew hot, and panting with his
efforts. The perspiration stood out on his round, rosy