they are luxuries he has not counted on, and I prized these
accordingly. Later in the day it threatened rain, and I drew up to
shore under the shelter of some thick overhanging hemlocks, and
proceeded to eat my berries and milk, glad of an excuse not to
delay my lunch longer. While tarrying here I heard young voices
upstream, and looking in that direction saw two boys coming down
the rapids on rude floats. They were racing along at a lively pace,
each with a pole in his hand, dexterously avoiding the rocks and
the breakers, and schooling themselves thus early in the duties and
perils of the raftsmen. As they saw me one observed to the other, --


"There is the man we saw go by when we were building our floats. If
we had known he was coming so far, maybe we could have got him to
give us a ride."

They drew near, guided their crafts to shore beside me, and tied
up, their poles answering for hawsers. They proved to be Johnny and
Denny Dwire, aged ten and twelve. They were friendly boys, and
though not a bit bashful were not a bit impertinent. And Johnny,
who did the most of the talking, had such a sweet, musical voice;
it was like a bird's. It seems Denny had run away, a day or two
before, to his uncle's, five miles above, and Johnny had been after
him, and was bringing his prisoner home on a float; and it was hard
to tell which was enjoying the fun most, the captor or the
captured.

"Why did you run away?" said I to Denny.

"Oh, 'cause," replied he, with an air which said plainly, "The