96 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 



"Then we'll go; " — and in the pouring rain we stowed 

 our luggage and ourselves into the boats, and started on our 

 toilsome way up-stream in search of a roof and a dry bed. 

 Still the rain poured, as we proceeded up the river to the 

 rapids, down which we had bumped and thumped, Init 

 up which there was to be some vigorous tugging. 



The Editor has a manly form that holds a wagon-seat 

 down lirmly, ballasts a boat satisfactorily, and affords an 

 exhaustive test of the honest materials and workmanship 

 of Fairbanks' scales. It accorded witli the fitness of things 

 that on this occasion Chris., into whose two arms had gone 

 the strength of the lost leg, should be his oarsman, while 

 the tough, wiry little Halsey should row his slim and thin 

 companion. But at the rapids, Chris, was at a disadvantage. 

 He could tramp through tlie forest with the best of us. He 

 could carry a small pack on his back. He could leap a log 

 with his crutch and cane and one leg where our two legs 

 faltered, — but he couldn't wade up rapids among the rocks 

 and swirls, in a thunder-storm, and at the same time drag a 

 l)oat behind him. 



The Editor could, and he did. Ensconced in a huge, 

 black rubber coat and under a broad-brimmed, sloiich-hat, 

 he preserved a semblance of dryness and comfort in the 

 upper story, but the basement was hopelessly damp. With 

 a ropc! over his shoulder he did good mule-power work at 

 towing the boat, as he picked his way among the hidden 

 rocks, and splashed and pitched and stumbled his devious 

 coiu'se up the rapids, — following, it is true, the lead of 

 Chris., who forged ahead like a locomotive under full 



