314 The Unknown River. 



tion. Now it so happens that the present chapter might 

 be dedicated plausibly enough to Julius Caesar, for he 

 crossed the Arroux at this very place in his chase after 

 the Swiss ; and no doubt it would be more modest, and 

 more scholarly, to give a learned little dissertation on 

 that event than an account of my own shipwreck. The 

 only objection is, that most readers would skip the spec- 

 ulations about Caesar. 



It was already rather late in the evening, and I was 

 sketching by the river-side at Laboulaye, and smoking 

 the pipe of consolation. The high-road passes not far 

 from the river at that place, and my dog-friend, hearing 

 the sound of wheels, went to see what sort of a carriage 

 was passing by. Soon after the carriage stopped, and I 

 heard the sort of bark which a dog gives when he meets 

 an old friend, a bark of joyous congratulation. 



It was a fat doctor of my acquaintance, who was 

 driving towards Toulon-sur-Arroux in the cool of the 

 evening. It is his nature to be sociable, and he is a hater 

 of solitude. He had recognized Tom at once, which is 

 easy on account of the dog's uncommon size and beauty, 

 and so knew that I could not be far off. Then he ad- 

 mired the canoe. Would I take a passenger ? He 

 would be delighted to go with me to Toulon if I would 

 give him a berth. Could he swim ? Swim ! not in 

 the least, but he would risk the adventure nevertheless. 

 Well, but then he would most likely be drowned. 

 He did not care if he were. 



Solitude is very pleasant, but students of landscape 

 get rather too much of it perhaps, and at times one will 



