to the solitary figure.

"Good-by! good-by!" she cried.

A renewed tempest of cheers and shouts of adieu broke from those
ashore. The paddles dipped once, twice, thrice, and paused. With one
accord those on shore and those in the canoe raised their caps and
said, "Que Dieu vous benisse." A moment's silence followed, during
which the current of the mighty river bore the light craft a few yards
down stream. Then from the ten _voyageurs_ arose a great shout.

"Abítibi! Abítibi!"

Their paddles struck in unison. The water swirled in white, circular
eddies. Instantly the canoe caught its momentum and began to slip
along against the sluggish current. Achille Picard raised a high tenor
voice, fixing the air,

"_En roulant ma boule roulante,
En roulant ma boule_."

And the _voyageurs_ swung into the quaint ballad of the fairy ducks
and the naughty prince with his magic gun.

_"Derrièr' chez-nous y-a-t-un 'ètang,
En roulant ma boule."_

The girl sank back, dabbing uncertainly at her eyes. "I shall never
see them again," she explained, wistfully.