Inside was this note, written in a small, firm hand:
"Lord Dunbridge presents his compliments to Mr. 'Bobbie,' and thanks him
for the enjoyable fish dinner tendered him last evening. And would Mr.
Bobbie kindly do him an additional favor? Would he come at six o'clock
to-morrow morning to assist a poor fisherman who has had no luck
to-day?"
That night Bob was a regular hero around the camp fire. The boys sang,
"He's a jolly good fellow," and a dozen other gay choruses, while
Bob looked to his tackle and bait, and gathered all the courage he
could muster to meet the great man in the morning. He need not have
trembled--it was no ordeal--for as he paddled up to the big camp a
quiet-looking gentleman with an iron gray moustache and kindly, genial
eyes, stepped down to the landing and held out his hand, and said,
"Good-morning, Bobbie. I hope we shall be friends. I have been most
unlucky; not a fish yesterday. We'll have to do better than that,
won't we?"
"Yes, sir--Yes, Your Excellency," said Bob, slowly trying to get his
nerves steady.
"I'm afraid my guides are very little good," said Lord Dunbridge, as he
carefully settled himself in the canoe. "They both profess to know these
waters, but they don't seem to be able to find any good fishing pools."
"I can do better than that," ventured Bob. "I have been around these
lakes every summer that I can remember. If, Your Excellency, you don't
mind, we'll paddle across to the outletting river. It's full of rapids,
and below them we'll find fish."
"Then we'll go there," replied His Excellency.
For one whole hour the great man and the great fisherman had sport that
a king might envy. Side by side they sat, or stood, baiting or reeling
in the heavy, gleaming bass, chatting, boasting, and eager for game.
It was a great morning's catch. A dozen noble fish testified to their
skill, when the pair, overcome with hunger, were compelled to put up
their rods and make for the camp and breakfast.
"We have had a glorious morning, haven't we, Bob?" said the Governor. "I
feel like a boy again, a boy playing truant, a boy who has ran away from
his big school of politicians at Ottawa, just to get a few days' fishing
and--and--oh, well, get away from it all."
There was a brief silence, then Lord Dunbridge continued, "Bob, you're a
boy; so was I once, but I think you'll understand. You Canadian boys do
seem to grasp things, some way or other. My boyhood was not quite as
jolly as yours is--not so independent. You see, we always had tutors and
things to look after us and keep us shut in, as it were, and I never
knew, as I dare say you do, the pleasure of getting about by myself,
and--" His voice trailed off as if he were thinking of something else.
Suddenly he seemed to awaken, and, removing his cap, let the keen
morning air blow across his long, fine hair--dark hair touched about the
temples with gray. Then he smiled down at the sunburnt boy at his side,
and said, as if he feared to be overheard, "Bob, I'd give five dollars
to be a boy like you to-day, and be able to run those rapids in a canoe.
Would it be safe?"
"I've done it twenty times, Your Excellency," said Bob, eagerly, "and in
this same old canoe here. I know every shoal, every rock, every bar in
the river. Oh, sir, that _is_ sport, the very best sport I know of!"
The spirit of the thing seemed to take hold of Lord Dunbridge, "Perhaps,
Bob," he exclaimed, with a dashing enthusiasm, "perhaps, Bob, some day
you and I will--"
"Yes, sir, I think I know," interrupted Bob, as the other hesitated;
then, in a half whisper, "I'll bring you through safely, sir, any time
you want to go."
"And you quite understand, Bob, you are to say nothing about that canoe
trip we're to have, don't you?" said His Excellency, as they parted at
the Governor's landing.
Bob lifted his cap, saying very quietly, "Very well, sir, no one shall
know." Then he paddled slowly, very slowly, away. His thoughts were
busy. Here was he, Bob Stuart, an obscure boy from an obscure Ontario
town, holding in common a secret with the Governor-General of all
Canada, a secret that not even the Prime Minister at Ottawa knew. Then
came the horror, the fear of an accident. Suppose something happened to
the canoe. Suppose she split her bow on a rock. Suppose His Excellency
"lost his head" and got nervous. Suppose a thousand things. But Bob
put it all resolutely behind him. He felt his strong young muscles,
his vital fingers, his pliant wrists. Yes, it was a great thing to be
a boy--a boy whose great pride had always been to excel in typical
Canadian sports, to be the "crack" canoeist, and to handle a paddle with
the ease of a professional. It was worth everything in the world to
recall the time when someone had tauntingly said, "Oh, Bob Stuart's no
good at cricket and baseball. Why, he can't even play tennis. All he
can do is to potter at his old Canuck sports of paddling a canoe and
swinging a lacrosse stick." And Bob had laughed with satisfaction, and
said, good-naturedly, "You bet! You're right. I'm for our national games
every time." And now had come the reward; he was to run the rapids with
the representative of the throne of Great Britain in the bow of his
canoe.
Two days later came the summons, and early the next morning Bob was
supposed to set forth again to take His Excellency fishing. The
viceregal staff, aides and guides saw them depart, never dreaming for
a moment that they were really runaways bound for a royal holiday.
Bob hardly realized it himself until, at the head of the rapids, they
unshipped all unnecessary tackle and prepared to make the run. They
hauled a big rock aboard, placing it astern to trim Bob's light weight
to balance Lord Dunbridge's. "Now," said the boy, "when I yell for you
to paddle port or starboard, you had better work for all you're worth,
Your Excellency, or we may grind on the rocks."
"Good," replied the Governor. "You can depend on me, Bob." His
Excellency knelt low on his heels forward of the bow thwart. Bob knelt
high, with the stern thwart just catching his seat. He felt his strong
ashen paddle carefully, stowed an extra blade "handy," said, "Now,
then," and the little canoe shot out into the middle of the placid
river. Far in the distance the rapids frothed and curled, their song
rippling backwards like a beckoning hand. On either side fir forests
crowded to the rocky edges, that broke like cruel granite jaws against
the waters. Immediately ahead the stream twisted into circles, those
smooth, deadly circles that herald the coming tumult. Bob's strong
young arms grew taut, their sinews like thin cords of steel. There was
not a tremor in his entire body. He knelt, steady and calm, his keen,
narrow eyes fixed plumb ahead, alert and shrewd as an animal. He felt
his fingers grip the paddle with a strength that was vise-like, grip,
and cling, and command. The canoe obeyed even his thought, obeyed the
turn of his smallest finger, obeyed, steadied itself, stood motionless
for a second, then lifted its nose and plunged forward. The spray split
in two, showering the gunwales, then roared abaft, and--they were in the
thick of the fight.
"Do you want me to paddle?" shouted back Lord Dunbridge.
"No, I can pilot her all right," came the response through the wind
that almost shrieked Bob's voice away. The rocky ledges of shores were
crowding closer now. The firs, dark and melancholy, were frowning down;
sharp crags arose like ragged teeth; to right, to left, ahead, and
between them the river boiled and lashed itself into fury, pitching
headlong on and on down the throat of the yawning channel. The tiny
canoe flung between the rocks like a shuttle. Twice its keel shivered,
rabbit-wise, in the force of crossing currents; once, far above the
tumult, came a wild, anxious voice from the shore, but neither Bob
nor his passenger gave heed. The dash of that wildcat rapid left no
second of time for replying or turning one's eyelid; it was one long,
breathless, hurling plunge, that got into their blood like a fever. Then
presently the riot seemed all behind them. The savage music of the river
grew fainter and fainter, the canoe slipped through the exhausted waters
silently as a snake. A moment more, and the bow beached on a strip of
yellow sand, secure, steadfast, triumphant. The glorious cruise was
over.
A little group of scared, white-faced men huddled together on shore, the
handsome young aide-de-camp reaching down his eager hands, which shook
with anxiety. "Oh, Your Excellency," he exclaimed, "how _could_ you run
such a risk, and with only this boy to pilot you?"
"Bob and I ran away," said Lord Dunbridge, as, breathless but happy,
he sprang from the canoe. "We ran away for a little holiday just by
ourselves. I would not have missed it for the world." Then, more
seriously, he added, "Gentlemen, if I could think that my Prime Minister
and the Government at Ottawa could steer the Ship of State as splendidly
as Bobbie steered that canoe, I would never have another wrinkle on my
forehead or another grey hair on my head."