curiosity of those who visited the House, thinking it was still a tavern.
But that was only for a time.

One night Jules Brydon, the young river-boss, camped with his men at
Bamber's Boom. He was of parents Scotch and French, and the amalgamation
of races in him made a striking product. He was cool and indomitable, yet
hearty and joyous. It was exciting to watch him at the head of his men,
breaking up a jam of logs, and it was a delight to hear him of an evening
as he sang:

"Have you heard the cry of the Long Lachine,
When happy is the sun in the morning?
The rapids long and the banks of green,
As we ride away in the morning,
On the froth of the Long Lachine?"

One day, soon after they came, the dams and booms were opened above, and
forests of logs came riding down to Bamber's Boom. The current was
strong, and the logs came on swiftly. As Brydon's gang worked, they saw a
man out upon a small raft of driftwood, which had been suddenly caught in
the drive of logs, and was carried out towards the middle channel. The
river-drivers laughed, for they failed to see that the man was old, and
that he could not run across the rolling logs to the shore. The old man,
evidently hopeless, laid down his pike-pole, folded his hands, and
drifted with the logs. The river-drivers stopped laughing. They began to
understand.

Brydon saw a woman standing at a window of the House waving her arms, and
there floated up the river the words, "Father! father!" He caught up a
pikepole, and ran over that spinning floor of logs to the raft. The old