COLLEGE BOYS' STORY. UP THE RIVER. 167 



tin cups, a lantern, axe, fishing tackle and rifle, complete 

 our out-tit. I admit that we are "roughing it" in good 

 earnest. At all events, the journey up here from Law 

 renee's deserves that appellation. Hut, 'forwiin't IKI' nUin 

 im-iiiiniwjnr,ihH 'which, freely translated, means, 'it will 

 make a good story to tdl at college next winter.' However, 

 I shall have to tone it do\\ n a little, or the hoys won't believe 

 it." 



'They will doubtless," I said, "hurl back at you. ' i><>*- 

 xti at (/iiia yxw.sr rfdt ///'//',' and I ranslate it to suit themselves: 

 ' Your big tiling was all in the thinking.'" 



"Oh. no. I don't fear that, if I ean only preserve for 

 future reference tin 1 scars of some of these big blisters." 



When I saw the narrator of this story. a> 1 did the follow- 

 ing summer, bearing from the commencement stage his 

 graduating honors and plentiful bonnets. 1 \\a-thinking, I 

 confess, more of the woods and of our interview at Old 

 For^-e than of his strong and graceful oration and manly 

 presence and I had not forgotten the blisters. 



It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when John 

 took our luggage on his broad, strong shoulders down to the 

 boat house where his own beautiful Adirondack boat his 

 special joy and pride awaited us. A pleasant row up the 

 river by the fading light, and in the cool evening air, was a 

 bli-sful change from our hard journey through the woods 

 OH foot and horse-back. We passed "Murderer's Point ," 

 where Nat Foster shot the Indian, Drid, as he was rowing 

 up the river. .John told the story, but it is better told in 

 II. 1'erry Smith's " Summerings in the Wilderness." 



