raft, of the axe and the gun, the age of Canadian romance, of daring
deed, of wild adventure.

"An' it ees half-hour too queek," persisted Joe. "Come on hup to de
dam." A little worn path invited their feet from the curving road, and
following their feet, they found themselves upon a steep embankment
which dammed the waters into a pond that formed the driving power for
the grist mill standing near. At the farther end of the pond a cedar
bush interposed a barrier to the sight and suggested mysterious things
beyond. Back of the cedar barrier a woods of great trees, spruce,
balsam, with tall elms and maples on the higher ground beyond, offered
deeper mysteries and delights unutterable. They knew well the cedar
swamp and the woods beyond. Partridges drummed there, rabbits darted
along their beaten runways, and Joe had seen a woodcock, that shyest of
all shy birds, disappear in glancing, shadowy flight, a ghostly, silent
denizen of the ghostly, silent spaces of the forest. Even as they
gazed upon that inviting line of woods, the boys could see and hear the
bluejays flash in swift flight from tree to tree and scream their joy of
rage and love. From the farther side of the pond two boys put out in a
flat-bottomed boat.

"There's big Ben and Mop," cried Larry eagerly. "Hello, Ben," he called
across the pond. "Goin' to school?"

"Yap," cried Mop, so denominated from the quantity and cut of the hair
that crowned his head. Ben was at the oars which creaked and thumped
between the pins, but were steadily driving the snub-nosed craft on its
toilsome way past the boys.

"Hello, Ben," cried Larry. "Take us in too."