_Island Lake,
Algonquin Park,
Canada._
No nice fat Embassy letter was waiting for me at the hotel, I am sorry
to say, but Aunt says we shall have time enough to get mail after the
camping-trip, so there was nothing forwarded for any of us. I am going
to keep this note-book with me and make a kind of diary, so as to jot
down everything that happens.
A glorious morning; we started off with guides, tents, and canoes, and
paddled through Cache Pond to Island Lake, our first camp, with only
two short carries. Boris insisted on having me and a guide in his
canoe. I won’t say I haven’t been flirting, but when my conscience
pricks me, I think of Mona Lisa in Rome with you, and go at it again.
Now aren’t you sorry?
The events have begun. We struck a nice little run of rapids, and just
when we got to the deepest part, the canoe slewed, hit a rock, and
then over it went, and we with it. The next thing I knew, someone was
dragging me up, blinking, choking, spluttering. I opened my eyes to
behold my rescuer, the Prince! Don’t you think, A. D., I should be
properly grateful to him? He saved my life--without an instant’s
hesitation, Aunt says. So you see you owe your future wife’s very
existence to him. I’ve _got_ to be sweet to him, haven’t I?
It is now near the end of our first day in the wilderness. I do
nothing but think how good it will be to see you again. I would like
so much to be in New York to greet you on the dock, but instead I’m
paddling with the Prince.
First day’s remarks by the party:
Sybil: “Oh! Ah! Heaven!”
Checkers: “Bully!”