Chapter 11

BIRDS AND BEASTS ON SABLE ISLAND.If you will take your atlas and turn to the map of Canada, you may, by looking very carefully, discover a small spot in the Atlantic Ocean almost due east from Nova Scotia, and close beside the sixtieth parallel of longitude. This little lonely spot is Sable Island, There it lies in the midst of the waves, a long, low bank of gray sand without a single tree upon it from end to end; nay, not so much as a bush behind which a baby might play hide-and-seek. It seems, therefore, at first sight to be one of the most unfavourable places in the world for the study of either birds or beasts. Yet, strange as it may seem, this island, which is now but twenty miles long, and at its greatest breadth but a mile and a half wide—once it was quite double that size—has a wonderfully interesting history of its own, of which not the least entertaining chapter is that relating to its furry and feathered inhabitants.Although when first viewed from the sea Sable Island appears to be nothing better than a barren sand-bank, on closer acquaintance it reveals inside its sloping beaches vales and meadows that in summer-time seem like bits out of a Western prairie. There are green, grassy knolls, and enchanting dells with placid ponds in their midst; and if you only come at the right time and stay long enough, you may gather pink roses, blue lilies, China asters, wild pea, gay golden-rod, and, what is still better, strawberries, blueberries, and cranberries in bountiful profusion.Our concern at present, however, is not with the fruits and flowers, but with the fur and feathers of this curious place.Seeing that Sable Island has no trees on the branches of which nests may be built, it follows naturally that its winged inhabitants are altogether of the water-fowl and sea-bird variety. All over the sides and tops of the sand-hills, which rise to the height of thirty, forty, or fifty feet, the gulls, gannets, terns, and other aquatic birds scrape together their miserable apologies for nests, and hatch out their ugly little squab chicks, making such a to-do about the business that the whole air is filled with their chattering, clanging, and screaming.They are indeed very disagreeable neighbours; for besides the horrid din they are ceaselessly making, they are the most untidy, not to say filthy, of housekeepers. After they have occupied their bird-barracks, as their nesting-places might appropriately be called, for a few weeks, the odour the wind bears from that direction could never be mistaken for one of those spicy breezes which are reputed to "blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle."Then they have not the redeeming quality of being fit to eat; for unless one were on the very edge of starvation, one taste of their flesh, rank with suggestions of fish and train-oil, would be sufficient to banish all appetite.They have one or two good qualities. They are brave; for at the peril of their lives they will dauntlessly attack any rash intruder upon their domains, swooping down upon him with sharp cries and still sharper beaks.Their movements illustrate the poetry of motion, as they come sailing grandly in from the ocean spaces, and circle about their own particular hillock in glorious dips and curves and mountings upward, that fill the human observer with longing and envy.Much more satisfactory, however, are the black duck, sheldrake, plover, curlew, and snipe, which nest by uncounted thousands in the dense grass that girts the fresh-water ponds, and afford dainty dishes for the table. It is easy work to make a fine bag on a favourable day, and grand sport may be had by any one who knows how to handle a double-barrel.Many are the interesting stories connected with bird life on Sable Island, but a single one, and that the oddest of them all, must suffice. I give it upon the unimpeachable authority of Dr. J. Bernard Gilpin.About forty years or more ago a lot of rabbits were sent there as an experiment. The idea was, if they prospered, to furnish the human inhabitants of the island with a pleasant variety from the salt junk which generally adorned their tables.The experiment succeeded admirably. Bunny found the firm, dry sands just the thing for his burrows, while the abundant wild pea and other herbage furnished unstinted food for his prolific brood. But one fateful day in spring—a dark day in the annals of rabbitdom—a big snowy owl, that had somehow lost his bearings and been driven out to sea by a westerly gale, dropped wearily upon the island to rest his tired pinions.While sitting on a sand-heap, thankful at his escape from a watery grave, he looked about him, and to his amazed delight beheld—of all sights the most welcome in the world to a hungry owl—rabbits! Rabbits young and rabbits old, rabbits plump and rabbits lean, rabbits in sixes and rabbits in sevens, were frisking about in the long grass and over the sand, merrily innocent of their peril.At first Sir Owl could scarcely believe his eyes, for it was a bright, sunny day, and owls cannot see very well when the sun is shining; but presently, as he still squatted on the sand, perfectly motionless except his eyelids blinking solemnly, a thoughtless little rabbit, which had grown too much excited over a game of chase with his brother to look where he was going, ran up against the bewildered bird.This awoke the owl thoroughly. With a quick spring that sent all the other little cotton-tails scampering off to their burrows in wild affright, he fastened his long claws in the back of his unfortunate disturber, and, without even stopping to say grace, made a dinner off him on the spot.That was a red-letter day in the owl's calendar. Thenceforth he revelled in rabbit for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and, had he been a very greedy owl, might have kept his discovery of a rabbit bonanza all to himself; but he didn't. With a splendid unselfishness which some bipeds without feathers might advantageously imitate, he had no sooner recruited his strength than off he posted to the mainland to spread the good news.Four days later he came back, but not alone this time. Bearing him company were his brothers, his sisters, his cousins, his uncles, and his aunts, in such numbers that ere the summer ended there was not a solitary bunny left upon the island!Since then the place has been restocked, and there having been no return of the owls, the rabbits, despite the fact that great numbers of them are killed for food, have so multiplied as to become a positive nuisance, and the experience of Australia being in view, the advisability of their extermination is seriously considered.Besides the rabbits, there have been, at different times, the following animals upon Sable Island—namely, the black fox, white bear, walrus, and seals; wild horses, cattle, and swine; rats, cats, and dogs. That makes quite a long list. Of course so small and bare an island could never have held them all at once.Now they are all gone except the rabbits, the horses, of which several hundreds still scamper wild over the sand dunes, and the seals, which come every year to introduce their shiny little whelps into the world, and to grow fat on the fish hurled continually upon the beach by the tireless breakers.It is a great many years since the black fox, white bear, and walrus were last seen upon the island. Too much money could be made out of them when dead for the fishermen, who knew of their presence, to let them live long; and so with powder and shot and steel they were ruthlessly exterminated. The beautiful skins of the black fox, worth one hundred golden crowns each, went principally to France, where they were made up into splendid robes for royalty.Just how the wild horses and cattle found their way to Sable Island is not positively known.They were first heard of in those early days when ships loaded with cattle, grain, and farming utensils were coming over in little fleets from Europe to help to settle America. In all likelihood some of these vessels got cast away on the island—for it has ever been a dreadful place for wrecks—and in some way the animals managed to scramble safe ashore, and thus the place became populated.The wild cattle disappeared early in the century; but the horses, or rather ponies, are still there, and very interesting creatures they are.Winter and summer they are out on the sand in all weathers. Indeed, they scorn to go under cover even in the wildest storms; and although shelters have been built for them, they will not deign to enter them. Another curious thing about them is that they are never seen to lie down, and apparently go to sleep standing.There are now about four hundred of these ponies, divided into troops, each under the charge and control of an old stallion, whose shaggy, unkempt mane and tail sweep the ground as he stands sentinel over his numerous family.They belong to the Dominion Government, and it has been usual to cull out some forty or fifty of the best of them each year and send them up to Halifax, where they command good prices.They are stanch, sturdy little animals, and very serviceable when properly broken. In my boyhood days I rejoiced in the possession of a fine bay that, barring a provoking habit of pitching an unwary rider over his head, was a great source of enjoyment.The manner of catching the ponies is for a number of mounted men to surround a band and drive it into a corral in which a tame pony has been placed as a decoy. This is often a very exciting experience: the cracking of whips, shouting of men, neighing of ponies, combine with the plunging of the frightened captives and the gallant charges of the enraged stallions to make up a scene not readily forgotten.Once safely corraled, the best males are picked out and lassoed, and the rest turned loose to breathe the salt air of freedom once more.As the breed has been observed to be degenerating greatly of late years, means have been taken to improve it, and it is probable that ere long Sable Island ponies will be more desirable than ever.A very amusing thing in connection with animal life on Sable Island is the story of the rats, cats, and dogs.First of all were the rats, who are reputed to be very clever about deserting sinking ships, and who here found plenty of opportunity to show their cleverness, for wrecks are always happening. They thus became so plentiful that they threatened to eat the human inhabitants out of house and home. Indeed, they did make them do without bread for three whole months upon one occasion.This state of things, of course, could not be tolerated. A large number of cats were accordingly imported, and they soon cleared the premises of the rapacious rodents. But it was not long ere the pussies in their turn grew so numerous, wild, and fierce as to become a source of serious trouble. A small army of dogs was therefore brought upon the scene, and they made short work of the cats, thus rounding out a very curious cycle.Did space permit I could tell something about the seals, and their very quaint and attractive ways and manners. But perhaps enough has been already written to convince readers that however lonely, barren, and insignificant Sable Island may seem, it has an interesting story of its own which is well worth the telling.THE BORE OF MINAS BASIN.Upon the side of one of the rounded hills that rise up gently from the wonderful sea of verdure which Longfellow, without ever looking upon it for himself, immortalized in his "Evangeline," Acacia Villa nestled cozily in the midst of many trees. Long lines of poplars stood sentinel-like up and down the house front, and marked out the garden boundaries, furnishing abundant supplies of "peppers" for the boys in spring-time; and, better still, a whole regiment of apple and pear trees marshalled itself at the back, filling the hearts (and mouths) of both young and old with delight in the autumn, when the boughs bent so temptingly beneath their burden of fruitage. There could hardly be a more attractive location for a boarding-school; and seeing what comfortable quarters Mr. Thomson provided, and how thoroughly he understood the business of teaching, it was no wonder that boys came not only from all parts of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, but even from the United States, to be grounded in classics, mathematics, and literature under his direction.The last boarder left Acacia Villa long ago, but twenty years back its dormitories were filled to their utmost capacity with lads of all ages and sizes, and the whole neighbourhood felt the stirring influence of twoscore lively, hearty, noisy boys in its midst. For nearly ten months out of the year the school was like a hive of bees in honey-time—the term beginning in September and finishing in June. It was coming on toward midsummer now, and excitement ran high throughout the school; for while the drones were looking forward longingly to the holidays which would release them from all horrid lesson-learning for a couple of months, the workers were even more eagerly expecting the final examinations, when books, bats, balls, knives, and other things dear to the schoolboy's heart, were offered by wise Mr. Thomson to the boys who came out ahead in the different branches of study. The two boys strolling down toward the river this fine summer afternoon were good representatives of the two classes—Frank Hamilton being one of the brightest and most ambitious, as Tom Peters, or "Buntie" in the saucy slang of his schoolmates, was one of the dullest and least aspiring in the school. Yet, somehow or other, they had been great chums ever since they came by the same coach to the Villa two years before. One could easily understand that lazy, good-natured "Buntie" should find much to admire and love in handsome, manly, clever Frank, who was indeed a born leader; but just what Frank found in Tom to make him so fond of him puzzled everybody, from Mr. Thomson down. In whatever lay the secret, the fact was clear that the boys loved each other like brothers; and the master, who delighted in classical allusions, used to greet them as Damon and Pythias when he encountered them together. They were discussing the approaching examinations, and speculating as to the prizes Mr. Thomson would offer this year."No apples for me on that tree," said Tom; adding with rather a rueful smile, "If Mr. Thomson would only offer a prize for the most lickings and impositions, I guess I'd run the best chance for it.""Never mind, old boy," said Frank, consolingly. "You weren't cut out for a scholar, that's clear; but you'll come out all right at something else, and perhaps make a bigger name than even 'Yankee' himself, although it wouldn't do to let him hear you say so.""I'm 'fraid I'd have a poor sight to beat Yankee at anything," answered Tom. "But say, Frank, how do you feel about giving him the go-by for the Starr prize? It 'ud break my heart if you didn't come out first.""Well, to tell the truth, Buntie, I don't feel any too cocky about it. Yankee's a tough customer to beat," replied Frank. "But, hush! he's coming right behind us. Must be going down to the river too, though it's more like him to stick in his room and grind."And as a tall, slight, dark-faced lad of about sixteen went past them without exchange of greetings, the two friends stopped talking and went on in silence."Yankee" was the nickname given to one of the American boys at the school. He had been thus distinguished because both in face and figure he bore some resemblance to the typical Uncle Sam, being longer, leaner, and sallower than any of his companions. He was of a quiet, reserved disposition, and had few friends. Indeed, he did not seem to desire many, but kept very much to himself, so that a lot of the boys disliked him. Yet, on the other hand, others respected although they might not love him; for not only did he divide with Frank Hamilton, whom they all worshipped, the highest honours in scholarship, but once, when scarlet fever broke out and seized upon six of the smallest boys before they could escape to their homes, "Yankee," or, to give him his proper name, Emory Haynes, although he had never had the fever himself, stayed with Mr. Thomson through many anxious weeks, and watched night after night by the sufferers' bedsides, showing such tact and devotion as a nurse that the doctor said at least two of the boys would never have been saved from death had it not been for his help.Walking with a rapid, almost impatient step that was characteristic of him, Emory Haynes passed the two friends, all three directing their course toward the Gaspereaux River, which cuts a wide red gash through the Grand Pré before adding its turbid torrent to the tossing waters of Minas Basin."If Yankee beats me for the Starr prize, it will be the biggest disappointment of my life," continued Frank. "It's not every day that a fellow can get hold of five pounds in bright big gold pieces; and father has promised if I win it to chip in as much more and buy me a splendid boat.""O Frank, you're sure to get it. Yankee works like a slave, to be sure, but he hasn't half as good a head on him," answered Tom confidently."I'm not by any means certain of that, Tom. Just see how easily he gets through his mathematics. He's sure to beat me on that, and I'll have to make up for it by beating him in classics. Anyhow, it is no use worrying about it now. Let's hurry up and have a dip."So dropping the subject, the two boys ran off at a rate that soon brought them to the river bank.Here a lovely picture awaited them. From their feet the red banks of clay and sand stretched hundreds of yards away (for the tide was out), until they were lapped by the river, now shrunk into a narrow, sluggish stream. To right and left and beyond the river the wide, level marsh lands, redeemed from the water by the patient toil of the Acadians, were waist-deep in verdure that swayed in long lines of light and shadow before the summer breeze. Not far off began the great dikes that sweep clear round the outer edge of the Grand Pre, the only elevation on all that vast plain, and now waving to their summits with "dusty-blossomed grass." Behind them the hills rose gently in fold upon fold, their broad shoulders flecked with frequent patches of golden grain or the dark foliage of the orchards; while over all rose a glorious summer sun that seemed to thrill the whole landscape with life and warmth and glory.But the boys had no eyes for all this beauty. They were far more concerned about the tide, and felt inclined to resent very warmly the fact that it should be out just when they wanted to have a swim."What a fraud!" exclaimed Frank. "'Pon my word, I believe the old tide is twice as much out as it is in; now isn't it, Buntie?""It is, sure's you're born," assented Tom. "There's nothing for it, I suppose, but to wait;" and so saying, he threw himself down in the long grass, his friend immediately following his example.Twenty yards away Emory Haynes was already seated with his face turned riverward, apparently lost in deep thought."Wonder what Yankee's thinking about?" remarked Tom. "Puzzling out some of those confounded problems he does so easily, perhaps," he added feelingly, for he had had some humiliating experiences of his own inability to get over thePons Asinorumsafely, or to explain whyawas equal toxunder certain perplexing circumstances."More probably planning what he'll do with that five pounds," said Frank, half petulantly. "I guess it's more likely to go into books than into a boat if he gets hold of it.""But he isn't going to get hold of it," objected Tom; and then, without giving Frank a chance to reply, he burst out, "Oh, I say, Frank, suppose instead of waiting here we go down to meet the bore and have a race back with it."[image]"THEY SAW THEIR COMPANION EMBEDDED NEARLY TO THE WAIST IN A QUICKSAND."Frank hesitated a moment before answering, for what Tom proposed was a very rash thing to do. What is known as the "bore" is the big wave produced by the onrush of water in a place where the tides rise forty, fifty, or even sixty feet, according to the time of year. The Bay of Fundy, of which Minas Basin is a branch, is famous for these wonderful tides, and the movements of the water make a sight well worth watching. The two boys had often looked on with lively interest as the returning flood rushed eagerly up the channel and over the flats, until in an incredibly short time what had been a waste of red mud was transformed into a broad expanse of turbid water."Rather a risky business, Tom, but I don't mind trying it. I'm in the humour for almost anything to-day; so come along."And without more ado the boys doffed their boots and stockings, rolled up their trousers, and set out for the water's edge. Emory Haynes watched them in silence until they had gone about fifty yards. Then, as if divining their foolish design, he called after them,—"Frank—Tom—where are you going to?""Going to meet the bore. Don't you want to come?" Frank shouted back. "Come along, Yankee, if you're not afraid," he added, in a half scornful tone.Not the words, but the tone in which they were uttered, brought an angry flush out on Emory's sallow cheeks, and without stopping to think of the folly of the thing, he too flung off his boots and started after the others."Blessed if Yankee isn't coming, after all," said Tom, under his breath, to Frank. "The chap's got plenty of grit in him."Side by side, but in silence—for somehow or other they felt ill at ease—the three boys picked their way carefully over the slippery mud and soft sand, keeping a sharp look-out for the sink-holes or quicksands, in which they might easily sink to their waists, or even deeper, at one plunge. Hardly had they reached the edge of the channel when Frank, who had been gazing down intently toward the Basin, called out,—"There it comes, fellows. Doesn't it look grand?"A good way off still, but drawing nearer with astonishing speed, a wall of dark foam-topped water came rushing up the channel and over the thirsty flats. It was several feet in height, and behind it followed the whole vast volume of the tide.The three lads had never been so close to the bore before, and they stood still and silent watching the grand sight until a shout from Emory broke the spell."Now then, boys, let's run for it."As fast as their feet could carry them they sped over the treacherous greasy flats, leaping the gaping gullies, turning aside from the suspicious spots, and steering straight for the place where they had left their shoes. Frank and Tom were both famous runners, and soon outstripped Emory; in fact, they were more than half-way to the bank, when a sharp cry of alarm made them stop and turn to see what was the matter. One glance was enough to tell them. Twenty yards behind they saw their companion embedded nearly to the waist in a quicksand, from which he was madly struggling to extricate himself, while his efforts seemed only to sink him the deeper. His situation was one of extreme peril. The bore had somewhat spent its force, but still advanced steadily. Unless Emory was rescued without delay, he would be buried beneath its pitiless flood.For one brief instant Frank hesitated, and Tom, as usual, waited for him to lead. Thoughts of the personal risk, the small chance of succeeding, and even—though ever after the mere recollection of it made his cheek burn with shame—of the advantage it would be to have his rival out of the way, throbbed through his brain. But it was only for an instant; and then with a shout of "Keep cool, Yankee; we're coming!" he grasped Tom's arm, and together they sprang to the rescue. Running with all their might, they reached their imperilled schoolmate just a second before the bore did, and standing on either side the treacherous spot were able to each seize a hand, and with one tremendous effort draw him out of its deadly embrace ere the great wave came sweeping down upon them, tumbling them over like nine-pins into the midst of its muddy surges. Fortunately, however, all three were good swimmers, and they had only to allow the water to work its will with them, for after a little tossing about it landed them safely on a sand-bank, whence they could easily wade ashore.Emory did not say much to his rescuers. It was not his way. But no one could mistake the depth of feeling expressed in the few words,—"Frank, you've saved my life, and I'll never forget it."Two weeks later the examinations came off, and amid the applause of the school Frank Hamilton was declared winner of the Starr prize, Emory Haynes being only just a few points behind him. Mr. Thomson was very well pleased at the result; but there was one thing that puzzled him a good deal—Emory, who was by far the best mathematical scholar in the school, had somehow or other done by no means so well in that branch as usual. In fact, he had actually left several not over-difficult questions altogether unanswered, and this more than anything else had lost him the prize. Mr. Thomson mentioned the matter to Frank Hamilton, at the same time expressing his surprise."I'm not surprised," said Frank, as something that looked very like tears welled up in his eyes. "When I saved Yankee's life he said he'd never forget it. That's how he kept his word."Mr. Thomson needed no further explanation.THE GAME OF RINK HOCKEY.The part performed by Canada in making contributions to the list of the world's amusements has been by no means slight. Lacrosse and canoeing for the warm bright days of summer, snow-shoeing and tobogganing for the crisp cold nights of winter, these make up a quartette of healthy, hearty sports, the superiors of which, in their appropriate season, any other country might safely be challenged to show. But apparently this ambitious colony is not content with the laurels already won, and in the bringing of the game of rink hockey to perfection would add another to her garland; for this fine game, as played in the Canadian cities to-day, is, without question, a distinctly home product.Not that hockey is native to the soil in the same sense as lacrosse. In a simpler form, and under different names, it has long existed in England; but the difference between the game as played there on the green and played in Canada on the ice, is as great as that between an old-fashioned game of rounders and a professional game of base-ball.The most ancient account of hockey is to be found in that dear, delightful old book, Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes of the People of England," where it figures under the name of "bandy ball,"—what is now called the hockey stick being then known as the "bandy;" and there is attached to the description a comical little woodcut representing two boys in short frocks, each wielding bandies almost as big as themselves, playing with a ball half the size of their heads.As first played in Canada, hockey went by various names, some of which were apparently merely local—hurley, shinny, rickets, and so forth, It was played only upon the ice in winter-time, and there was not much pretence to rules, each player taking part as best he knew how. No effort toward systematizing the game appears to have been made until the year 1875, when the members of the Montreal Football Club, in search of some lively athletic amusement for the long winter months, recognized in hockey the very thing they wanted.At first the rules adopted for the regulation of the game were modelled upon those of the English Hockey Association. But as the game developed, many changes were found necessary in adapting it to the requirements of a rink, and the rules now used by the Amateur Hockey Association of Canada are in the main original with it.Starting from Montreal, the game has made its way to Halifax and St. John on the east, and to Ottawa and Toronto on the west, and from the enthusiasm with which it has been taken up at these cities, it actually threatens to displace tobogganing and snow-shoeing in the affections of the young men.Let me now try to give my readers some idea of the game and the way in which it is played. Please picture to yourselves a skating-rink with an ice surface one hundred and fifty feet in length by seventy-five feet in width. At either end, close to the platform, are the goals, consisting of two slender poles placed six feet apart, and standing four feet high, with small red flags at their peaks. Such is the field of battle, and upon it the players take their places. They are dressed much as they would be for football, except that their feet are shod with skates of a peculiar make, the heel projecting more than in an ordinary skate, in order to guard against getting a nasty fall when heeling up suddenly. Each player is armed with a hockey stick, as to the size of which the only rule is that it shall not be more than three inches wide at any part. A good stick should be made of a single piece of ash, bent, not sawed, into the proper curve, of the length and weight the player finds to suit him best. The bone of contention between the contending sides is called the puck, and is a circular piece of vulcanized rubber one inch thick all through, and three inches in diameter. It is slightly elastic, and will rebound from the board sides of the rink if sent violently against them; a fact which enables an expert player to evade an opponent charging down to wrest it from him, as by striking the puck against the boards, and picking it up again on the rebound, he can keep on his way unchecked.The teams are arranged in the following manner:—Goal-keeper takes his place between the posts, and a little forward of them; point stands about four yards out, and a little to one side, so as not to interfere with the goal-keeper's view down the centre; cover-point's position is from ten to fifteen yards out from goal, and on the opposite side to point; centre's post is indicated by his name; and the same may be said of the right and left forwards, and the half-back, who supports centre.[image]"THE GAME GOES ON IN LIVELY EARNEST."For the control of the game there are a referee, who follows it about as does the referee at football, and two umpires, one at either goal, the sole business of the latter being to decide whether or not the puck has passed between the posts, and not above the flags.Play begins with a bully—that is, the puck is placed between the two centres in the centre of the rink, and they, after solemnly striking their sticks together, three times, scramble for its possession, trying either to drive it ahead into their opponents' territory, or behind to the half-back, who immediately passes it to one of the forwards. Then the game goes on in lively earnest; and when the teams are expert and well matched, there is nothing on ice to compare with it for brilliancy and excitement. The exceeding swiftness of the players' movements; the sudden variations in the position of the puck as, under the impulse of sinewy arms, it darts from end to end, from side to side, of the rink; the incessant grind and clatter and ring of the skates; the crack of the hockeys, and the shouts of the eager players—all combine to work up the deepest interest among the spectators; and the announcement of a match between two good teams always insures a large and enthusiastic attendance.The rules by which the game is governed are easily understood. So long as the puck is on the ice it is in play, even though it be behind the goal line. Of course a goal can be won only from the front; but an opponent who is not off-side may follow the puck behind the goal line, and fight for the privilege of bringing it out again. The rules as to on-side and off-side are precisely the same as in Rugby football; that is to say, a player must always be between his own goal and the puck when he plays on it. A violation of this rule calls for a bully at the spot where the wrong stroke was made. The referee is the sole judge in all matters of this kind, and from his decision there is no appeal. The puck may be stopped, but not carried or knocked on by any part of the body. In striking it the stick must not be raised above the shoulder. The object of this rule is to check violence, and the effect of it is to make the stroke move of a push than a blow, insuring greater accuracy in shooting for goal or a fellow-player, and adding greatly to the grace of the game. A practised player will, with wonderfully little manifest effort, send the puck from end to end of the rink if the ice is at all in good condition.Another mode of propelling the puck which is at present permissible, but is in danger of being ruled out, is "lifting." I cannot very well explain in words how it is done; but by a deft turn of the wrist, gained only by diligent practice, the rubber is made to spring into the air and fly in the desired direction. It is a very effective but dangerous way of gaining ground, the danger consisting in the liability of players to be struck by the weighty missile, and ugly blows have often been received in this way. A "lift" at the goals is very hard to stop, if sent in low and swift, as I know by personal experience; for once, when tending goal, the point of my opponents charged down the length of the rink, and, without slackening speed, "lifted" the puck, and sent it past me like a bullet, while I was making ready to receive it on the ice, not imagining that he could lift successfully while at full speed.No charging from behind, tripping, collaring, kicking, or shinning is allowed; and if any player offends after two warnings, it is the duty of the referee to order him off the ice for the remainder of the match. If the puck goes off the ice behind the goals, it must be taken five yards out, at right angles from the goal line, and there "faced" as at the beginning of the game. When it goes off the ice at the sides, it must be faced five yards at right angles from the side boundary.The goal-keeper must not during play lie, kneel, or sit upon the ice, but must maintain a standing position. He may stop the puck with his hands or feet, but may not throw or kick it away from the goal. He must play it properly with his stick.Two half-hours, with an intermission of ten minutes to regain breath and wipe off the perspiration, is the time allowed for a match, the team winning the most goals being the victors. There are no other points than goals to be scored.Such are the principal rules; and now for a few words in conclusion of a general character. Only those who are in good condition and at home on their skates should undertake to play hockey. It is a violent game, and tests both wind and muscle to the utmost. The player must make up his mind to many falls, and no lack of hard knocks on shins and knuckles; for such things will happen, however faithfully the contestants try to keep to the rules. At the same time, these very characteristics make hockey one of the manliest of sports. Strength, speed, endurance, self-control, shrewdness, are the necessary qualities of one who would excel in it. Combination play is just as effective in it as in football, and there is no practical limit to the skill that may be attained.A very important feature of hockey is that it may be played at night. Since the introduction of the electric light our rinks are made as bright as day, and then the many hard-working young men who are too busy all day to take part in any sport have the opportunity of an hour's splendid exercise after their work is over.Take it all in all, there is perhaps no winter sport exclusively for men that is destined to become more popular, or have more enduring favour. In Canada new associations are rapidly springing up, and local leagues that arrange a schedule of matches for the season. The boys are taking hold of the game with great zest, closely imitating the tricks and artifices of their big brothers, and it is safe to say that hockey has definitely taken its place among the national sports of Canada.ON THE EDGE OF THE RAPIDS."Hurrah, Lon! we've got the sort of day we've been looking for at last," cried Alec Pearson, as he met his chum one lovely still summer morning. "No trouble about getting over to Deschenes to-day.""Right you are, Alec! This is just the correct thing. We'll start straight after breakfast—hey?""As soon as you like, provided mother's got the grub ready. Can't think of going without that, you know.""No, sir. A basket of grub's half the fun. And mother's promised me a big one.""Ditto mine," responded Alec. "So there's no fear of our starving for a while, even if we get cast away on one of the islands.""Cast away on one of the islands!" echoed Lon. "That's a great idea! Wouldn't it make a great sensation?""Perhaps it would," replied Alec, who was of a more cautious and unimaginative cast of character. "But I'm not hankering to try it all the same. To get over to Deschenes will be enough fun for me."The speakers were two boys of about sixteen years of age, sitting upon the front steps of a summer cottage, and looking out across the splendid stretch of water that flashed like a flawless mirror beneath the fiery morning sunshine.They had come out to Britannia for the summer, and were enjoying its fine facilities for boating, bathing, and canoeing as only city boys, pent up in close quarters for three-fourths of the year, can enjoy such exhilarating sports.The great Lake Deschenes filled them with profound admiration. They exulted in its magnificent breadth, its mighty length, its cool, limpid depths, and most of all the glorious rapids which marked the place where it gathered itself together to become the River Ottawa again, and resume its steady course seaward.Nearly all their time they spent upon the water or in it, and in the course of a month had become tolerably expert canoeists, so that they did not hesitate to take long trips up the lake or across to the farther side.The visit to Deschenes village, whose cottages were scattered along the lake shore almost opposite to Britannia, had been put off until they felt themselves to be thoroughly masters of their cranky craft; for in order to get there it was necessary to cross the head of the rapids, and to do this successfully would require both strength and skill.For a week past Alec and Lon had felt themselves to be equal to the task, but had been delayed by unfavourable weather. Great, then, was their delight when this particular Saturday morning dawned clear and calm, promising to be the very kind of a day they desired.They started at nine o'clock, taking with them for company, besides their well-filled baskets, Wad, Alec's handsome hunting spaniel, who had learned to behave perfectly on board the canoe.Their craft was of the most approved make, of which they were joint-owners, completely equipped with paddles, cushions, sails, and steering-gear.There being not a breath of wind, they had no use for the sail, so the mast was not put up nor the rudder shipped. In his enthusiastic eagerness to realize their long-cherished plan, Lon set to paddling with all his might; but Alec, who had the stern, laughingly checked his ardour, saying,—"Take it easy, Lon; take it easy, my boy! There's lots of work ahead of you. Better not waste your muscle now!"Alec had taken care to make inquiries of some of the Britannia folk as to the course he should steer, and they had all impressed upon him to go a good way straight up the lake, and away from the rapids, before turning toward Deschenes, as the current was tremendously strong, and made itself felt far higher up than one would imagine, looking at it from the Britannia side.Accordingly he pointed the canoe almost due north, as though he had Aylmer in mind rather than Deschenes, and kept her on that course until Lon began to grow impatient."What's the use of going up so far?" he protested; "you can't feel the current here.""Because old Lark told me to make that point before striking across, and he knows all about it," replied Alec."Ugh: Lark's an old fuss. He goes away up there only because he's too lazy to pull straight across where the current's strong," grumbled Lon, who had a passion for short cuts, and who kept urging his companion to head the canoe more directly toward their destination, until at last Alec, for very peace's sake, and against his better judgment, altered their course in compliance with his wishes.For a hundred yards or so the paddling was no harder than before, and they made no leeway, so that Lon could exclaim triumphantly,—"There now, didn't I tell you? It's only a waste of time going so far up."But when another hundred yards' advance had brought the canoe fairly into the middle of the mighty stream, moving with majestic flow toward the angry rapids, the paddlers soon awoke to the fact that while they were still making good headway, they were making considerable leeway also, and that the task of getting across was going to be made much harder thereby.Although both noticed this, neither made any remark about it at first: Alec, because he did not wish to alarm Lon; and Lon, because he shrank from admitting that it would have been wiser to follow shrewd old Lark's advice. So they paddled away in silence, putting plenty of muscle into their strokes, and anxiously measuring their progress by landmarks on the farther shore.Presently their exertions began to toll upon their young frames. The perspiration beaded their faces, their breath came short, their backs began aching, and their arms grew weary.Lon's heart was already sinking within him, and Alec deeply regretted having yielded to his companion's ill-advised solicitations to disregard old Lark.But there was no time for reconsideration or exchanging of regrets. They were beyond a doubt in the grasp of the current, and must strain every nerve to extricate themselves.Then, to add to their anxiety, the weather showed signs of betraying the fair promise of the morning. Clouds began to obscure the deep blue of the sky, and a breeze to ruffle the calm surface of the lake. Unable to control his feelings any longer, Lon broke out with more than a hint of a sob in his voice,—"O Alec, I wish we hadn't started! I'm getting awfully tired, and we don't seem to be making any headway at all.""Oh, yes we are, Lon," responded Alec, doing his best to be cheerful. "Paddle away; we'll get across all right."Thus encouraged, Lon put a little more life into his strokes for the next few minutes, and the canoe did seem to be gaining ground. But the gain was only temporary. The further they advanced the more they felt the force of the current.Yet it was too late to turn back. Their only course was to keep on until they had shaken themselves free from the power that was dragging them downward to destruction.Whether they would have been equal to this feat can only be guessed; for in trying to change his position to relieve his cramped legs, Lon lost his balance for a moment, and on attempting to recover himself did what was even worse—let slip his paddle, which was instantly whirled out of his reach."O Alec! what shall we do now?" he cried in dismay.Alec's face was white and set."Nothing—we are powerless," he said quietly.It was, of course, futile for him to try to contend alone with the pitiless current. The little canoe, as if glad at having no longer to fight its way foot by foot, glided gaily down towards the rapids, and all that Alec could do was to keep it straight in its course, and not allow it to swing around broadside.Poor Lon, utterly overcome with terror, crouched down in the bow, sobbing so that he shook the frail canoe. But Alec was not one to yield to despair so long as anything could be done.His brain was busy seeking some scheme for escape from their exceeding peril, and as he glanced anxiously ahead, a thought flashed into his mind that caused his eye to brighten and his pale face to light up with hope and determination.Right on the edge of the rapids, just before the smooth swift stream broke up into tumultuous billows, stood a little island—a mere patch of rocks, crowned with half-a-dozen straggling trees.If he could only beach the canoe on this island they might yet be saved. It was all that remained between them and certain death.The island was not more than two hundred yards distant, and to reach it he must make the canoe cut obliquely through the current. Summoning all his energies for a supreme effort, he bent to his task, in the meantime saying to Lon,—"Be ready to jump the moment the canoe strikes."For a boy of his age, Alec put a wonderful degree of strength into his strokes, and he had the joy of seeing his frail craft obey, in spite of the opposing waters, until it was pointing fair for the island. Then with a glad hurrah he ceased fighting the current, and joined forces with it, so successfully as to drive the canoe straight towards the rocks.He did not miss his aim. With a leap, as though it were alive, the canoe rushed at the island and ran half its length out of the water, a sound of splintering wood telling that its bottom had suffered in so doing.With feelings of indescribable relief the boys sprang out upon the solid ground, and instantly embracing one another, danced about in sheer exuberance of joy.The rapids were cheated of their prey, and the worst of the peril was passed.Having thus given vent to their feelings, they proceeded to examine the canoe, and were glad to find that its bottom was not very badly injured, and could be easily repaired.Their next thought was, how could they get off the island? They were safe enough there for the present, of course, and they had sufficient provisions, if carefully husbanded, to keep them from starving for three or four days.But they had no idea of playing the part of Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, even for that short space of time, if it could possibly be helped. So they got on the edge of the island nearest Britannia, and Alec held up his paddle with his coat on it as a signal of distress, while both shouted at the top of their voices.Their shouts were drowned in the ceaseless roar of the rapids; but after a while their signal of distress was observed, and soon a crowd had gathered on the shore opposite them, and there was great excitement.Everybody was eager to help, but nobody knew just what to do. All sorts of schemes were suggested for the rescue of the boys, the most feasible of which was to have a large boat go out above the rapids and anchor there, and then send down a smaller one secured by a rope, with which it could be hauled back again, for no boat could by any possibility be rowed back against that mighty current.But there were two difficulties in the way of this plan. There was no boat at the village big enough and no rope long enough for the purpose, so some other way must needs be devised.The morning wore away and the afternoon shadows lengthened without anything being done, and it looked as though the boys would have to stay on the island all night, when the cry was raised that there was a raft coming down; and sure enough the great towing steamer, followed by a huge raft of square timber, hove into sight far up the lake.The problem of the boys' deliverance need no longer he worried over. The raftsmen would solve it in short measure.The big raft reached Britannia just long enough before dark to allow of the rescue being accomplished. The moment the foreman heard of the boys' situation he detailed six of his best men, three being Indians and three French Canadians, to bring them off.Landing their largest bonne, a kind of boat peculiar to lumbering being flat on the bottom and very high at both bow and stern, they rowed off briskly towards the rapids, laughing and chaffing one another, and evidently deeming it quite a bit of fun, while the crowd gathered on the shore watched their every movement with breathless attention.Managing their clumsy-looking but most seaworthy craft with perfect skill, they made an easy landing on the island, took the boys on board, and then waving their hats to the admiring onlookers, continued gaily on into the very midst of the boiling rapids, the big bonne bobbing about like a cork, seemingly at the entire mercy of the waters, yet all the time being cleverly steered by her crew, and after an exciting passage, during which the boys hardly breathed, shooting out into the smooth stretch below the rapids without having taken so much as a single drop of water on board.A hearty cheer broke from the delighted spectators at this happy conclusion to the affair, and a few moments later the boys were in their midst, receiving the embraces of their overjoyed parents and the vigorous congratulations of the others.The rescuing raftsmen were well rewarded for their timely service, and Master Lon learned a lesson in caution that he is not likely soon to forget.

BIRDS AND BEASTS ON SABLE ISLAND.

If you will take your atlas and turn to the map of Canada, you may, by looking very carefully, discover a small spot in the Atlantic Ocean almost due east from Nova Scotia, and close beside the sixtieth parallel of longitude. This little lonely spot is Sable Island, There it lies in the midst of the waves, a long, low bank of gray sand without a single tree upon it from end to end; nay, not so much as a bush behind which a baby might play hide-and-seek. It seems, therefore, at first sight to be one of the most unfavourable places in the world for the study of either birds or beasts. Yet, strange as it may seem, this island, which is now but twenty miles long, and at its greatest breadth but a mile and a half wide—once it was quite double that size—has a wonderfully interesting history of its own, of which not the least entertaining chapter is that relating to its furry and feathered inhabitants.

Although when first viewed from the sea Sable Island appears to be nothing better than a barren sand-bank, on closer acquaintance it reveals inside its sloping beaches vales and meadows that in summer-time seem like bits out of a Western prairie. There are green, grassy knolls, and enchanting dells with placid ponds in their midst; and if you only come at the right time and stay long enough, you may gather pink roses, blue lilies, China asters, wild pea, gay golden-rod, and, what is still better, strawberries, blueberries, and cranberries in bountiful profusion.

Our concern at present, however, is not with the fruits and flowers, but with the fur and feathers of this curious place.

Seeing that Sable Island has no trees on the branches of which nests may be built, it follows naturally that its winged inhabitants are altogether of the water-fowl and sea-bird variety. All over the sides and tops of the sand-hills, which rise to the height of thirty, forty, or fifty feet, the gulls, gannets, terns, and other aquatic birds scrape together their miserable apologies for nests, and hatch out their ugly little squab chicks, making such a to-do about the business that the whole air is filled with their chattering, clanging, and screaming.

They are indeed very disagreeable neighbours; for besides the horrid din they are ceaselessly making, they are the most untidy, not to say filthy, of housekeepers. After they have occupied their bird-barracks, as their nesting-places might appropriately be called, for a few weeks, the odour the wind bears from that direction could never be mistaken for one of those spicy breezes which are reputed to "blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle."

Then they have not the redeeming quality of being fit to eat; for unless one were on the very edge of starvation, one taste of their flesh, rank with suggestions of fish and train-oil, would be sufficient to banish all appetite.

They have one or two good qualities. They are brave; for at the peril of their lives they will dauntlessly attack any rash intruder upon their domains, swooping down upon him with sharp cries and still sharper beaks.

Their movements illustrate the poetry of motion, as they come sailing grandly in from the ocean spaces, and circle about their own particular hillock in glorious dips and curves and mountings upward, that fill the human observer with longing and envy.

Much more satisfactory, however, are the black duck, sheldrake, plover, curlew, and snipe, which nest by uncounted thousands in the dense grass that girts the fresh-water ponds, and afford dainty dishes for the table. It is easy work to make a fine bag on a favourable day, and grand sport may be had by any one who knows how to handle a double-barrel.

Many are the interesting stories connected with bird life on Sable Island, but a single one, and that the oddest of them all, must suffice. I give it upon the unimpeachable authority of Dr. J. Bernard Gilpin.

About forty years or more ago a lot of rabbits were sent there as an experiment. The idea was, if they prospered, to furnish the human inhabitants of the island with a pleasant variety from the salt junk which generally adorned their tables.

The experiment succeeded admirably. Bunny found the firm, dry sands just the thing for his burrows, while the abundant wild pea and other herbage furnished unstinted food for his prolific brood. But one fateful day in spring—a dark day in the annals of rabbitdom—a big snowy owl, that had somehow lost his bearings and been driven out to sea by a westerly gale, dropped wearily upon the island to rest his tired pinions.

While sitting on a sand-heap, thankful at his escape from a watery grave, he looked about him, and to his amazed delight beheld—of all sights the most welcome in the world to a hungry owl—rabbits! Rabbits young and rabbits old, rabbits plump and rabbits lean, rabbits in sixes and rabbits in sevens, were frisking about in the long grass and over the sand, merrily innocent of their peril.

At first Sir Owl could scarcely believe his eyes, for it was a bright, sunny day, and owls cannot see very well when the sun is shining; but presently, as he still squatted on the sand, perfectly motionless except his eyelids blinking solemnly, a thoughtless little rabbit, which had grown too much excited over a game of chase with his brother to look where he was going, ran up against the bewildered bird.

This awoke the owl thoroughly. With a quick spring that sent all the other little cotton-tails scampering off to their burrows in wild affright, he fastened his long claws in the back of his unfortunate disturber, and, without even stopping to say grace, made a dinner off him on the spot.

That was a red-letter day in the owl's calendar. Thenceforth he revelled in rabbit for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and, had he been a very greedy owl, might have kept his discovery of a rabbit bonanza all to himself; but he didn't. With a splendid unselfishness which some bipeds without feathers might advantageously imitate, he had no sooner recruited his strength than off he posted to the mainland to spread the good news.

Four days later he came back, but not alone this time. Bearing him company were his brothers, his sisters, his cousins, his uncles, and his aunts, in such numbers that ere the summer ended there was not a solitary bunny left upon the island!

Since then the place has been restocked, and there having been no return of the owls, the rabbits, despite the fact that great numbers of them are killed for food, have so multiplied as to become a positive nuisance, and the experience of Australia being in view, the advisability of their extermination is seriously considered.

Besides the rabbits, there have been, at different times, the following animals upon Sable Island—namely, the black fox, white bear, walrus, and seals; wild horses, cattle, and swine; rats, cats, and dogs. That makes quite a long list. Of course so small and bare an island could never have held them all at once.

Now they are all gone except the rabbits, the horses, of which several hundreds still scamper wild over the sand dunes, and the seals, which come every year to introduce their shiny little whelps into the world, and to grow fat on the fish hurled continually upon the beach by the tireless breakers.

It is a great many years since the black fox, white bear, and walrus were last seen upon the island. Too much money could be made out of them when dead for the fishermen, who knew of their presence, to let them live long; and so with powder and shot and steel they were ruthlessly exterminated. The beautiful skins of the black fox, worth one hundred golden crowns each, went principally to France, where they were made up into splendid robes for royalty.

Just how the wild horses and cattle found their way to Sable Island is not positively known.

They were first heard of in those early days when ships loaded with cattle, grain, and farming utensils were coming over in little fleets from Europe to help to settle America. In all likelihood some of these vessels got cast away on the island—for it has ever been a dreadful place for wrecks—and in some way the animals managed to scramble safe ashore, and thus the place became populated.

The wild cattle disappeared early in the century; but the horses, or rather ponies, are still there, and very interesting creatures they are.

Winter and summer they are out on the sand in all weathers. Indeed, they scorn to go under cover even in the wildest storms; and although shelters have been built for them, they will not deign to enter them. Another curious thing about them is that they are never seen to lie down, and apparently go to sleep standing.

There are now about four hundred of these ponies, divided into troops, each under the charge and control of an old stallion, whose shaggy, unkempt mane and tail sweep the ground as he stands sentinel over his numerous family.

They belong to the Dominion Government, and it has been usual to cull out some forty or fifty of the best of them each year and send them up to Halifax, where they command good prices.

They are stanch, sturdy little animals, and very serviceable when properly broken. In my boyhood days I rejoiced in the possession of a fine bay that, barring a provoking habit of pitching an unwary rider over his head, was a great source of enjoyment.

The manner of catching the ponies is for a number of mounted men to surround a band and drive it into a corral in which a tame pony has been placed as a decoy. This is often a very exciting experience: the cracking of whips, shouting of men, neighing of ponies, combine with the plunging of the frightened captives and the gallant charges of the enraged stallions to make up a scene not readily forgotten.

Once safely corraled, the best males are picked out and lassoed, and the rest turned loose to breathe the salt air of freedom once more.

As the breed has been observed to be degenerating greatly of late years, means have been taken to improve it, and it is probable that ere long Sable Island ponies will be more desirable than ever.

A very amusing thing in connection with animal life on Sable Island is the story of the rats, cats, and dogs.

First of all were the rats, who are reputed to be very clever about deserting sinking ships, and who here found plenty of opportunity to show their cleverness, for wrecks are always happening. They thus became so plentiful that they threatened to eat the human inhabitants out of house and home. Indeed, they did make them do without bread for three whole months upon one occasion.

This state of things, of course, could not be tolerated. A large number of cats were accordingly imported, and they soon cleared the premises of the rapacious rodents. But it was not long ere the pussies in their turn grew so numerous, wild, and fierce as to become a source of serious trouble. A small army of dogs was therefore brought upon the scene, and they made short work of the cats, thus rounding out a very curious cycle.

Did space permit I could tell something about the seals, and their very quaint and attractive ways and manners. But perhaps enough has been already written to convince readers that however lonely, barren, and insignificant Sable Island may seem, it has an interesting story of its own which is well worth the telling.

THE BORE OF MINAS BASIN.

Upon the side of one of the rounded hills that rise up gently from the wonderful sea of verdure which Longfellow, without ever looking upon it for himself, immortalized in his "Evangeline," Acacia Villa nestled cozily in the midst of many trees. Long lines of poplars stood sentinel-like up and down the house front, and marked out the garden boundaries, furnishing abundant supplies of "peppers" for the boys in spring-time; and, better still, a whole regiment of apple and pear trees marshalled itself at the back, filling the hearts (and mouths) of both young and old with delight in the autumn, when the boughs bent so temptingly beneath their burden of fruitage. There could hardly be a more attractive location for a boarding-school; and seeing what comfortable quarters Mr. Thomson provided, and how thoroughly he understood the business of teaching, it was no wonder that boys came not only from all parts of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, but even from the United States, to be grounded in classics, mathematics, and literature under his direction.

The last boarder left Acacia Villa long ago, but twenty years back its dormitories were filled to their utmost capacity with lads of all ages and sizes, and the whole neighbourhood felt the stirring influence of twoscore lively, hearty, noisy boys in its midst. For nearly ten months out of the year the school was like a hive of bees in honey-time—the term beginning in September and finishing in June. It was coming on toward midsummer now, and excitement ran high throughout the school; for while the drones were looking forward longingly to the holidays which would release them from all horrid lesson-learning for a couple of months, the workers were even more eagerly expecting the final examinations, when books, bats, balls, knives, and other things dear to the schoolboy's heart, were offered by wise Mr. Thomson to the boys who came out ahead in the different branches of study. The two boys strolling down toward the river this fine summer afternoon were good representatives of the two classes—Frank Hamilton being one of the brightest and most ambitious, as Tom Peters, or "Buntie" in the saucy slang of his schoolmates, was one of the dullest and least aspiring in the school. Yet, somehow or other, they had been great chums ever since they came by the same coach to the Villa two years before. One could easily understand that lazy, good-natured "Buntie" should find much to admire and love in handsome, manly, clever Frank, who was indeed a born leader; but just what Frank found in Tom to make him so fond of him puzzled everybody, from Mr. Thomson down. In whatever lay the secret, the fact was clear that the boys loved each other like brothers; and the master, who delighted in classical allusions, used to greet them as Damon and Pythias when he encountered them together. They were discussing the approaching examinations, and speculating as to the prizes Mr. Thomson would offer this year.

"No apples for me on that tree," said Tom; adding with rather a rueful smile, "If Mr. Thomson would only offer a prize for the most lickings and impositions, I guess I'd run the best chance for it."

"Never mind, old boy," said Frank, consolingly. "You weren't cut out for a scholar, that's clear; but you'll come out all right at something else, and perhaps make a bigger name than even 'Yankee' himself, although it wouldn't do to let him hear you say so."

"I'm 'fraid I'd have a poor sight to beat Yankee at anything," answered Tom. "But say, Frank, how do you feel about giving him the go-by for the Starr prize? It 'ud break my heart if you didn't come out first."

"Well, to tell the truth, Buntie, I don't feel any too cocky about it. Yankee's a tough customer to beat," replied Frank. "But, hush! he's coming right behind us. Must be going down to the river too, though it's more like him to stick in his room and grind."

And as a tall, slight, dark-faced lad of about sixteen went past them without exchange of greetings, the two friends stopped talking and went on in silence.

"Yankee" was the nickname given to one of the American boys at the school. He had been thus distinguished because both in face and figure he bore some resemblance to the typical Uncle Sam, being longer, leaner, and sallower than any of his companions. He was of a quiet, reserved disposition, and had few friends. Indeed, he did not seem to desire many, but kept very much to himself, so that a lot of the boys disliked him. Yet, on the other hand, others respected although they might not love him; for not only did he divide with Frank Hamilton, whom they all worshipped, the highest honours in scholarship, but once, when scarlet fever broke out and seized upon six of the smallest boys before they could escape to their homes, "Yankee," or, to give him his proper name, Emory Haynes, although he had never had the fever himself, stayed with Mr. Thomson through many anxious weeks, and watched night after night by the sufferers' bedsides, showing such tact and devotion as a nurse that the doctor said at least two of the boys would never have been saved from death had it not been for his help.

Walking with a rapid, almost impatient step that was characteristic of him, Emory Haynes passed the two friends, all three directing their course toward the Gaspereaux River, which cuts a wide red gash through the Grand Pré before adding its turbid torrent to the tossing waters of Minas Basin.

"If Yankee beats me for the Starr prize, it will be the biggest disappointment of my life," continued Frank. "It's not every day that a fellow can get hold of five pounds in bright big gold pieces; and father has promised if I win it to chip in as much more and buy me a splendid boat."

"O Frank, you're sure to get it. Yankee works like a slave, to be sure, but he hasn't half as good a head on him," answered Tom confidently.

"I'm not by any means certain of that, Tom. Just see how easily he gets through his mathematics. He's sure to beat me on that, and I'll have to make up for it by beating him in classics. Anyhow, it is no use worrying about it now. Let's hurry up and have a dip."

So dropping the subject, the two boys ran off at a rate that soon brought them to the river bank.

Here a lovely picture awaited them. From their feet the red banks of clay and sand stretched hundreds of yards away (for the tide was out), until they were lapped by the river, now shrunk into a narrow, sluggish stream. To right and left and beyond the river the wide, level marsh lands, redeemed from the water by the patient toil of the Acadians, were waist-deep in verdure that swayed in long lines of light and shadow before the summer breeze. Not far off began the great dikes that sweep clear round the outer edge of the Grand Pre, the only elevation on all that vast plain, and now waving to their summits with "dusty-blossomed grass." Behind them the hills rose gently in fold upon fold, their broad shoulders flecked with frequent patches of golden grain or the dark foliage of the orchards; while over all rose a glorious summer sun that seemed to thrill the whole landscape with life and warmth and glory.

But the boys had no eyes for all this beauty. They were far more concerned about the tide, and felt inclined to resent very warmly the fact that it should be out just when they wanted to have a swim.

"What a fraud!" exclaimed Frank. "'Pon my word, I believe the old tide is twice as much out as it is in; now isn't it, Buntie?"

"It is, sure's you're born," assented Tom. "There's nothing for it, I suppose, but to wait;" and so saying, he threw himself down in the long grass, his friend immediately following his example.

Twenty yards away Emory Haynes was already seated with his face turned riverward, apparently lost in deep thought.

"Wonder what Yankee's thinking about?" remarked Tom. "Puzzling out some of those confounded problems he does so easily, perhaps," he added feelingly, for he had had some humiliating experiences of his own inability to get over thePons Asinorumsafely, or to explain whyawas equal toxunder certain perplexing circumstances.

"More probably planning what he'll do with that five pounds," said Frank, half petulantly. "I guess it's more likely to go into books than into a boat if he gets hold of it."

"But he isn't going to get hold of it," objected Tom; and then, without giving Frank a chance to reply, he burst out, "Oh, I say, Frank, suppose instead of waiting here we go down to meet the bore and have a race back with it."

[image]"THEY SAW THEIR COMPANION EMBEDDED NEARLY TO THE WAIST IN A QUICKSAND."

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"THEY SAW THEIR COMPANION EMBEDDED NEARLY TO THE WAIST IN A QUICKSAND."

Frank hesitated a moment before answering, for what Tom proposed was a very rash thing to do. What is known as the "bore" is the big wave produced by the onrush of water in a place where the tides rise forty, fifty, or even sixty feet, according to the time of year. The Bay of Fundy, of which Minas Basin is a branch, is famous for these wonderful tides, and the movements of the water make a sight well worth watching. The two boys had often looked on with lively interest as the returning flood rushed eagerly up the channel and over the flats, until in an incredibly short time what had been a waste of red mud was transformed into a broad expanse of turbid water.

"Rather a risky business, Tom, but I don't mind trying it. I'm in the humour for almost anything to-day; so come along."

And without more ado the boys doffed their boots and stockings, rolled up their trousers, and set out for the water's edge. Emory Haynes watched them in silence until they had gone about fifty yards. Then, as if divining their foolish design, he called after them,—

"Frank—Tom—where are you going to?"

"Going to meet the bore. Don't you want to come?" Frank shouted back. "Come along, Yankee, if you're not afraid," he added, in a half scornful tone.

Not the words, but the tone in which they were uttered, brought an angry flush out on Emory's sallow cheeks, and without stopping to think of the folly of the thing, he too flung off his boots and started after the others.

"Blessed if Yankee isn't coming, after all," said Tom, under his breath, to Frank. "The chap's got plenty of grit in him."

Side by side, but in silence—for somehow or other they felt ill at ease—the three boys picked their way carefully over the slippery mud and soft sand, keeping a sharp look-out for the sink-holes or quicksands, in which they might easily sink to their waists, or even deeper, at one plunge. Hardly had they reached the edge of the channel when Frank, who had been gazing down intently toward the Basin, called out,—

"There it comes, fellows. Doesn't it look grand?"

A good way off still, but drawing nearer with astonishing speed, a wall of dark foam-topped water came rushing up the channel and over the thirsty flats. It was several feet in height, and behind it followed the whole vast volume of the tide.

The three lads had never been so close to the bore before, and they stood still and silent watching the grand sight until a shout from Emory broke the spell.

"Now then, boys, let's run for it."

As fast as their feet could carry them they sped over the treacherous greasy flats, leaping the gaping gullies, turning aside from the suspicious spots, and steering straight for the place where they had left their shoes. Frank and Tom were both famous runners, and soon outstripped Emory; in fact, they were more than half-way to the bank, when a sharp cry of alarm made them stop and turn to see what was the matter. One glance was enough to tell them. Twenty yards behind they saw their companion embedded nearly to the waist in a quicksand, from which he was madly struggling to extricate himself, while his efforts seemed only to sink him the deeper. His situation was one of extreme peril. The bore had somewhat spent its force, but still advanced steadily. Unless Emory was rescued without delay, he would be buried beneath its pitiless flood.

For one brief instant Frank hesitated, and Tom, as usual, waited for him to lead. Thoughts of the personal risk, the small chance of succeeding, and even—though ever after the mere recollection of it made his cheek burn with shame—of the advantage it would be to have his rival out of the way, throbbed through his brain. But it was only for an instant; and then with a shout of "Keep cool, Yankee; we're coming!" he grasped Tom's arm, and together they sprang to the rescue. Running with all their might, they reached their imperilled schoolmate just a second before the bore did, and standing on either side the treacherous spot were able to each seize a hand, and with one tremendous effort draw him out of its deadly embrace ere the great wave came sweeping down upon them, tumbling them over like nine-pins into the midst of its muddy surges. Fortunately, however, all three were good swimmers, and they had only to allow the water to work its will with them, for after a little tossing about it landed them safely on a sand-bank, whence they could easily wade ashore.

Emory did not say much to his rescuers. It was not his way. But no one could mistake the depth of feeling expressed in the few words,—

"Frank, you've saved my life, and I'll never forget it."

Two weeks later the examinations came off, and amid the applause of the school Frank Hamilton was declared winner of the Starr prize, Emory Haynes being only just a few points behind him. Mr. Thomson was very well pleased at the result; but there was one thing that puzzled him a good deal—Emory, who was by far the best mathematical scholar in the school, had somehow or other done by no means so well in that branch as usual. In fact, he had actually left several not over-difficult questions altogether unanswered, and this more than anything else had lost him the prize. Mr. Thomson mentioned the matter to Frank Hamilton, at the same time expressing his surprise.

"I'm not surprised," said Frank, as something that looked very like tears welled up in his eyes. "When I saved Yankee's life he said he'd never forget it. That's how he kept his word."

Mr. Thomson needed no further explanation.

THE GAME OF RINK HOCKEY.

The part performed by Canada in making contributions to the list of the world's amusements has been by no means slight. Lacrosse and canoeing for the warm bright days of summer, snow-shoeing and tobogganing for the crisp cold nights of winter, these make up a quartette of healthy, hearty sports, the superiors of which, in their appropriate season, any other country might safely be challenged to show. But apparently this ambitious colony is not content with the laurels already won, and in the bringing of the game of rink hockey to perfection would add another to her garland; for this fine game, as played in the Canadian cities to-day, is, without question, a distinctly home product.

Not that hockey is native to the soil in the same sense as lacrosse. In a simpler form, and under different names, it has long existed in England; but the difference between the game as played there on the green and played in Canada on the ice, is as great as that between an old-fashioned game of rounders and a professional game of base-ball.

The most ancient account of hockey is to be found in that dear, delightful old book, Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes of the People of England," where it figures under the name of "bandy ball,"—what is now called the hockey stick being then known as the "bandy;" and there is attached to the description a comical little woodcut representing two boys in short frocks, each wielding bandies almost as big as themselves, playing with a ball half the size of their heads.

As first played in Canada, hockey went by various names, some of which were apparently merely local—hurley, shinny, rickets, and so forth, It was played only upon the ice in winter-time, and there was not much pretence to rules, each player taking part as best he knew how. No effort toward systematizing the game appears to have been made until the year 1875, when the members of the Montreal Football Club, in search of some lively athletic amusement for the long winter months, recognized in hockey the very thing they wanted.

At first the rules adopted for the regulation of the game were modelled upon those of the English Hockey Association. But as the game developed, many changes were found necessary in adapting it to the requirements of a rink, and the rules now used by the Amateur Hockey Association of Canada are in the main original with it.

Starting from Montreal, the game has made its way to Halifax and St. John on the east, and to Ottawa and Toronto on the west, and from the enthusiasm with which it has been taken up at these cities, it actually threatens to displace tobogganing and snow-shoeing in the affections of the young men.

Let me now try to give my readers some idea of the game and the way in which it is played. Please picture to yourselves a skating-rink with an ice surface one hundred and fifty feet in length by seventy-five feet in width. At either end, close to the platform, are the goals, consisting of two slender poles placed six feet apart, and standing four feet high, with small red flags at their peaks. Such is the field of battle, and upon it the players take their places. They are dressed much as they would be for football, except that their feet are shod with skates of a peculiar make, the heel projecting more than in an ordinary skate, in order to guard against getting a nasty fall when heeling up suddenly. Each player is armed with a hockey stick, as to the size of which the only rule is that it shall not be more than three inches wide at any part. A good stick should be made of a single piece of ash, bent, not sawed, into the proper curve, of the length and weight the player finds to suit him best. The bone of contention between the contending sides is called the puck, and is a circular piece of vulcanized rubber one inch thick all through, and three inches in diameter. It is slightly elastic, and will rebound from the board sides of the rink if sent violently against them; a fact which enables an expert player to evade an opponent charging down to wrest it from him, as by striking the puck against the boards, and picking it up again on the rebound, he can keep on his way unchecked.

The teams are arranged in the following manner:—Goal-keeper takes his place between the posts, and a little forward of them; point stands about four yards out, and a little to one side, so as not to interfere with the goal-keeper's view down the centre; cover-point's position is from ten to fifteen yards out from goal, and on the opposite side to point; centre's post is indicated by his name; and the same may be said of the right and left forwards, and the half-back, who supports centre.

[image]"THE GAME GOES ON IN LIVELY EARNEST."

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"THE GAME GOES ON IN LIVELY EARNEST."

For the control of the game there are a referee, who follows it about as does the referee at football, and two umpires, one at either goal, the sole business of the latter being to decide whether or not the puck has passed between the posts, and not above the flags.

Play begins with a bully—that is, the puck is placed between the two centres in the centre of the rink, and they, after solemnly striking their sticks together, three times, scramble for its possession, trying either to drive it ahead into their opponents' territory, or behind to the half-back, who immediately passes it to one of the forwards. Then the game goes on in lively earnest; and when the teams are expert and well matched, there is nothing on ice to compare with it for brilliancy and excitement. The exceeding swiftness of the players' movements; the sudden variations in the position of the puck as, under the impulse of sinewy arms, it darts from end to end, from side to side, of the rink; the incessant grind and clatter and ring of the skates; the crack of the hockeys, and the shouts of the eager players—all combine to work up the deepest interest among the spectators; and the announcement of a match between two good teams always insures a large and enthusiastic attendance.

The rules by which the game is governed are easily understood. So long as the puck is on the ice it is in play, even though it be behind the goal line. Of course a goal can be won only from the front; but an opponent who is not off-side may follow the puck behind the goal line, and fight for the privilege of bringing it out again. The rules as to on-side and off-side are precisely the same as in Rugby football; that is to say, a player must always be between his own goal and the puck when he plays on it. A violation of this rule calls for a bully at the spot where the wrong stroke was made. The referee is the sole judge in all matters of this kind, and from his decision there is no appeal. The puck may be stopped, but not carried or knocked on by any part of the body. In striking it the stick must not be raised above the shoulder. The object of this rule is to check violence, and the effect of it is to make the stroke move of a push than a blow, insuring greater accuracy in shooting for goal or a fellow-player, and adding greatly to the grace of the game. A practised player will, with wonderfully little manifest effort, send the puck from end to end of the rink if the ice is at all in good condition.

Another mode of propelling the puck which is at present permissible, but is in danger of being ruled out, is "lifting." I cannot very well explain in words how it is done; but by a deft turn of the wrist, gained only by diligent practice, the rubber is made to spring into the air and fly in the desired direction. It is a very effective but dangerous way of gaining ground, the danger consisting in the liability of players to be struck by the weighty missile, and ugly blows have often been received in this way. A "lift" at the goals is very hard to stop, if sent in low and swift, as I know by personal experience; for once, when tending goal, the point of my opponents charged down the length of the rink, and, without slackening speed, "lifted" the puck, and sent it past me like a bullet, while I was making ready to receive it on the ice, not imagining that he could lift successfully while at full speed.

No charging from behind, tripping, collaring, kicking, or shinning is allowed; and if any player offends after two warnings, it is the duty of the referee to order him off the ice for the remainder of the match. If the puck goes off the ice behind the goals, it must be taken five yards out, at right angles from the goal line, and there "faced" as at the beginning of the game. When it goes off the ice at the sides, it must be faced five yards at right angles from the side boundary.

The goal-keeper must not during play lie, kneel, or sit upon the ice, but must maintain a standing position. He may stop the puck with his hands or feet, but may not throw or kick it away from the goal. He must play it properly with his stick.

Two half-hours, with an intermission of ten minutes to regain breath and wipe off the perspiration, is the time allowed for a match, the team winning the most goals being the victors. There are no other points than goals to be scored.

Such are the principal rules; and now for a few words in conclusion of a general character. Only those who are in good condition and at home on their skates should undertake to play hockey. It is a violent game, and tests both wind and muscle to the utmost. The player must make up his mind to many falls, and no lack of hard knocks on shins and knuckles; for such things will happen, however faithfully the contestants try to keep to the rules. At the same time, these very characteristics make hockey one of the manliest of sports. Strength, speed, endurance, self-control, shrewdness, are the necessary qualities of one who would excel in it. Combination play is just as effective in it as in football, and there is no practical limit to the skill that may be attained.

A very important feature of hockey is that it may be played at night. Since the introduction of the electric light our rinks are made as bright as day, and then the many hard-working young men who are too busy all day to take part in any sport have the opportunity of an hour's splendid exercise after their work is over.

Take it all in all, there is perhaps no winter sport exclusively for men that is destined to become more popular, or have more enduring favour. In Canada new associations are rapidly springing up, and local leagues that arrange a schedule of matches for the season. The boys are taking hold of the game with great zest, closely imitating the tricks and artifices of their big brothers, and it is safe to say that hockey has definitely taken its place among the national sports of Canada.

ON THE EDGE OF THE RAPIDS.

"Hurrah, Lon! we've got the sort of day we've been looking for at last," cried Alec Pearson, as he met his chum one lovely still summer morning. "No trouble about getting over to Deschenes to-day."

"Right you are, Alec! This is just the correct thing. We'll start straight after breakfast—hey?"

"As soon as you like, provided mother's got the grub ready. Can't think of going without that, you know."

"No, sir. A basket of grub's half the fun. And mother's promised me a big one."

"Ditto mine," responded Alec. "So there's no fear of our starving for a while, even if we get cast away on one of the islands."

"Cast away on one of the islands!" echoed Lon. "That's a great idea! Wouldn't it make a great sensation?"

"Perhaps it would," replied Alec, who was of a more cautious and unimaginative cast of character. "But I'm not hankering to try it all the same. To get over to Deschenes will be enough fun for me."

The speakers were two boys of about sixteen years of age, sitting upon the front steps of a summer cottage, and looking out across the splendid stretch of water that flashed like a flawless mirror beneath the fiery morning sunshine.

They had come out to Britannia for the summer, and were enjoying its fine facilities for boating, bathing, and canoeing as only city boys, pent up in close quarters for three-fourths of the year, can enjoy such exhilarating sports.

The great Lake Deschenes filled them with profound admiration. They exulted in its magnificent breadth, its mighty length, its cool, limpid depths, and most of all the glorious rapids which marked the place where it gathered itself together to become the River Ottawa again, and resume its steady course seaward.

Nearly all their time they spent upon the water or in it, and in the course of a month had become tolerably expert canoeists, so that they did not hesitate to take long trips up the lake or across to the farther side.

The visit to Deschenes village, whose cottages were scattered along the lake shore almost opposite to Britannia, had been put off until they felt themselves to be thoroughly masters of their cranky craft; for in order to get there it was necessary to cross the head of the rapids, and to do this successfully would require both strength and skill.

For a week past Alec and Lon had felt themselves to be equal to the task, but had been delayed by unfavourable weather. Great, then, was their delight when this particular Saturday morning dawned clear and calm, promising to be the very kind of a day they desired.

They started at nine o'clock, taking with them for company, besides their well-filled baskets, Wad, Alec's handsome hunting spaniel, who had learned to behave perfectly on board the canoe.

Their craft was of the most approved make, of which they were joint-owners, completely equipped with paddles, cushions, sails, and steering-gear.

There being not a breath of wind, they had no use for the sail, so the mast was not put up nor the rudder shipped. In his enthusiastic eagerness to realize their long-cherished plan, Lon set to paddling with all his might; but Alec, who had the stern, laughingly checked his ardour, saying,—

"Take it easy, Lon; take it easy, my boy! There's lots of work ahead of you. Better not waste your muscle now!"

Alec had taken care to make inquiries of some of the Britannia folk as to the course he should steer, and they had all impressed upon him to go a good way straight up the lake, and away from the rapids, before turning toward Deschenes, as the current was tremendously strong, and made itself felt far higher up than one would imagine, looking at it from the Britannia side.

Accordingly he pointed the canoe almost due north, as though he had Aylmer in mind rather than Deschenes, and kept her on that course until Lon began to grow impatient.

"What's the use of going up so far?" he protested; "you can't feel the current here."

"Because old Lark told me to make that point before striking across, and he knows all about it," replied Alec.

"Ugh: Lark's an old fuss. He goes away up there only because he's too lazy to pull straight across where the current's strong," grumbled Lon, who had a passion for short cuts, and who kept urging his companion to head the canoe more directly toward their destination, until at last Alec, for very peace's sake, and against his better judgment, altered their course in compliance with his wishes.

For a hundred yards or so the paddling was no harder than before, and they made no leeway, so that Lon could exclaim triumphantly,—

"There now, didn't I tell you? It's only a waste of time going so far up."

But when another hundred yards' advance had brought the canoe fairly into the middle of the mighty stream, moving with majestic flow toward the angry rapids, the paddlers soon awoke to the fact that while they were still making good headway, they were making considerable leeway also, and that the task of getting across was going to be made much harder thereby.

Although both noticed this, neither made any remark about it at first: Alec, because he did not wish to alarm Lon; and Lon, because he shrank from admitting that it would have been wiser to follow shrewd old Lark's advice. So they paddled away in silence, putting plenty of muscle into their strokes, and anxiously measuring their progress by landmarks on the farther shore.

Presently their exertions began to toll upon their young frames. The perspiration beaded their faces, their breath came short, their backs began aching, and their arms grew weary.

Lon's heart was already sinking within him, and Alec deeply regretted having yielded to his companion's ill-advised solicitations to disregard old Lark.

But there was no time for reconsideration or exchanging of regrets. They were beyond a doubt in the grasp of the current, and must strain every nerve to extricate themselves.

Then, to add to their anxiety, the weather showed signs of betraying the fair promise of the morning. Clouds began to obscure the deep blue of the sky, and a breeze to ruffle the calm surface of the lake. Unable to control his feelings any longer, Lon broke out with more than a hint of a sob in his voice,—

"O Alec, I wish we hadn't started! I'm getting awfully tired, and we don't seem to be making any headway at all."

"Oh, yes we are, Lon," responded Alec, doing his best to be cheerful. "Paddle away; we'll get across all right."

Thus encouraged, Lon put a little more life into his strokes for the next few minutes, and the canoe did seem to be gaining ground. But the gain was only temporary. The further they advanced the more they felt the force of the current.

Yet it was too late to turn back. Their only course was to keep on until they had shaken themselves free from the power that was dragging them downward to destruction.

Whether they would have been equal to this feat can only be guessed; for in trying to change his position to relieve his cramped legs, Lon lost his balance for a moment, and on attempting to recover himself did what was even worse—let slip his paddle, which was instantly whirled out of his reach.

"O Alec! what shall we do now?" he cried in dismay.

Alec's face was white and set.

"Nothing—we are powerless," he said quietly.

It was, of course, futile for him to try to contend alone with the pitiless current. The little canoe, as if glad at having no longer to fight its way foot by foot, glided gaily down towards the rapids, and all that Alec could do was to keep it straight in its course, and not allow it to swing around broadside.

Poor Lon, utterly overcome with terror, crouched down in the bow, sobbing so that he shook the frail canoe. But Alec was not one to yield to despair so long as anything could be done.

His brain was busy seeking some scheme for escape from their exceeding peril, and as he glanced anxiously ahead, a thought flashed into his mind that caused his eye to brighten and his pale face to light up with hope and determination.

Right on the edge of the rapids, just before the smooth swift stream broke up into tumultuous billows, stood a little island—a mere patch of rocks, crowned with half-a-dozen straggling trees.

If he could only beach the canoe on this island they might yet be saved. It was all that remained between them and certain death.

The island was not more than two hundred yards distant, and to reach it he must make the canoe cut obliquely through the current. Summoning all his energies for a supreme effort, he bent to his task, in the meantime saying to Lon,—

"Be ready to jump the moment the canoe strikes."

For a boy of his age, Alec put a wonderful degree of strength into his strokes, and he had the joy of seeing his frail craft obey, in spite of the opposing waters, until it was pointing fair for the island. Then with a glad hurrah he ceased fighting the current, and joined forces with it, so successfully as to drive the canoe straight towards the rocks.

He did not miss his aim. With a leap, as though it were alive, the canoe rushed at the island and ran half its length out of the water, a sound of splintering wood telling that its bottom had suffered in so doing.

With feelings of indescribable relief the boys sprang out upon the solid ground, and instantly embracing one another, danced about in sheer exuberance of joy.

The rapids were cheated of their prey, and the worst of the peril was passed.

Having thus given vent to their feelings, they proceeded to examine the canoe, and were glad to find that its bottom was not very badly injured, and could be easily repaired.

Their next thought was, how could they get off the island? They were safe enough there for the present, of course, and they had sufficient provisions, if carefully husbanded, to keep them from starving for three or four days.

But they had no idea of playing the part of Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, even for that short space of time, if it could possibly be helped. So they got on the edge of the island nearest Britannia, and Alec held up his paddle with his coat on it as a signal of distress, while both shouted at the top of their voices.

Their shouts were drowned in the ceaseless roar of the rapids; but after a while their signal of distress was observed, and soon a crowd had gathered on the shore opposite them, and there was great excitement.

Everybody was eager to help, but nobody knew just what to do. All sorts of schemes were suggested for the rescue of the boys, the most feasible of which was to have a large boat go out above the rapids and anchor there, and then send down a smaller one secured by a rope, with which it could be hauled back again, for no boat could by any possibility be rowed back against that mighty current.

But there were two difficulties in the way of this plan. There was no boat at the village big enough and no rope long enough for the purpose, so some other way must needs be devised.

The morning wore away and the afternoon shadows lengthened without anything being done, and it looked as though the boys would have to stay on the island all night, when the cry was raised that there was a raft coming down; and sure enough the great towing steamer, followed by a huge raft of square timber, hove into sight far up the lake.

The problem of the boys' deliverance need no longer he worried over. The raftsmen would solve it in short measure.

The big raft reached Britannia just long enough before dark to allow of the rescue being accomplished. The moment the foreman heard of the boys' situation he detailed six of his best men, three being Indians and three French Canadians, to bring them off.

Landing their largest bonne, a kind of boat peculiar to lumbering being flat on the bottom and very high at both bow and stern, they rowed off briskly towards the rapids, laughing and chaffing one another, and evidently deeming it quite a bit of fun, while the crowd gathered on the shore watched their every movement with breathless attention.

Managing their clumsy-looking but most seaworthy craft with perfect skill, they made an easy landing on the island, took the boys on board, and then waving their hats to the admiring onlookers, continued gaily on into the very midst of the boiling rapids, the big bonne bobbing about like a cork, seemingly at the entire mercy of the waters, yet all the time being cleverly steered by her crew, and after an exciting passage, during which the boys hardly breathed, shooting out into the smooth stretch below the rapids without having taken so much as a single drop of water on board.

A hearty cheer broke from the delighted spectators at this happy conclusion to the affair, and a few moments later the boys were in their midst, receiving the embraces of their overjoyed parents and the vigorous congratulations of the others.

The rescuing raftsmen were well rewarded for their timely service, and Master Lon learned a lesson in caution that he is not likely soon to forget.

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