who had much to do. Down below,
old Sandy McTavish, the engineer and the captain's brother, was seated
on a nail keg smoking and spinning yarns to a couple of young Indians.
His assistant, Peter McDuff the younger, who did such work as had to be
done to make the _Inverness_ move, was lounging against the engine-room
door, listening.

Up in the little pilot house in the bow, the captain was also at
leisure. He was perched upon a stool watching, with deep interest and
admiration, the young man who was guiding the wheel.

"Ah, ha! ye haven't forgotten, I see!" he exclaimed proudly, as the
strong young hands gave the vessel a wide sweep around a little reedy
island. "I was wondering if you would be remembering the Sand Bar,
indeed."

"I've taken the _Inverness_ on too many Sunday-school picnics to forget
your lessons, Captain. There's the Pine Point shoal next, and after
you round that, you head her for the Cedars on the tip of Loon Island,
and then straight as the crow flies for the Gates and then Home!
Hurrah!"

He shook his straight broad shoulders with a boyish gesture of
impatience, as though he would like to jump overboard and swim home.

"Eh, well, well! It's your father will be the happy man, and to think
you are coming home to stay, too." The captain rubbed his hands along
his knees, joyfully.

The young man smiled, but did not answer. His eager, dark eyes were
turned upon the scene ahead, marking every dearly familiar point.
Already he could see, through an opening in the forest, the soft gleam
of Lake Algonquin. There was Rock Bass Island where he and his father
and Peter Fiddle used to fish, and the slash in the middle of it
whither he rowed Aunt Kirsty every August to help harvest the
blackberries. A soft golden haze hung over the water, reminding him of
that illusive gleam he had followed, one evening so long ago, when he
set out to find the treasure at the foot of the rainbow.

He smiled at the recollection of his childish fancy. For he was a man
now, with a university degree, and far removed from any such folly.
Nevertheless there was something in the quick movement of his strong
brown hands, and the look of impulsive daring in his bright eyes, that
hinted that he might be just the lad to launch his canoe on life's
waters and paddle away in haste towards the lure of a rainbow gleam.

When Captain McTavish had answered a stream of questions regarding all
and sundry in Algonquin, he left h