Do you want a mate?"
"I should like a paddler as far as Fort George."
"Well, pick your man."
"Quonab."
And when they set out, for the first time Rolf was in the stern,
the post of guidance and command. So once more the two were
travelling again with Skookum in the bow. It was afternoon when
they started and the four-mile passage of the creek was slow, but
down the long, glorious vista of the noble George they went at
full canoe-flight, five miles an hour, and twenty-five miles of
the great fair-way were reeled and past when they lighted their
nightly fire.
At dawn-cry of the hawk they sped away, and in spite of a rising
wind they made six miles in two hours.
As they approached the familiar landing of Van Trumper's farm,
Skookum began to show a most zestful interest that recalled the
blackened pages of his past. "Quonab, better use that," and Rolf
handed a line with which Skookum was secured and thus led to make
a new record, for this was the first time in his life that he
landed at Van Trumper's without sacrificing a chicken in honour
of the joyful occasion.
They entered the house as the family were sitting down to
breakfast.
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