270 The Unknown River, 



to follow me during the whole voyage he will incur much 

 useless fatigue. Why does not Tom simply run along 

 the bank ? he would go twice as fast, with a tenth of the 

 fatigue. I stop the canoe and reason with poor Tom. I 

 explain all this to him both verbally and by signs, but 

 his only answer is to look at me imploringly, and lift up 

 his wet old nose, and splash with his fore-paws, and put 

 one of them timidly on the edge of the canoe. I remove 

 the paw, and use one word of menace: the sensitive 

 creature takes an expression of extreme sadness ; I have 

 wounded his feelings. I speak more kindly, and explain 

 that the only objection is to his bigness ; that he is dearly 

 beloved, but unhappily too big ; and that the canoe can 

 never carry both of us. The kind tones encourage him 

 again ; this time he puts both paws on the canoe, and is 

 within a hairbreadth of upsetting her. My only chance 

 of getting the great, heavy, clinging paws off is to hit 

 their owner a smart rap on the nose with the paddle. 



The narrow stream winds rapidly between banks of 

 gravel, and four little boys are running along the shore, 

 keeping pace with the swift canoe. Poor Tom cannot 

 swim quite so fast, and has been left behind for several 

 turns of the river, but now he comes galloping like a 

 racehorse across the fields. Nothing could be easier 

 and more agreeable than the voyage has hitherto been, 

 but the stream, already very rapid, runs faster and faster, 

 and is evidently carrying me into a dense grove of trees, 

 which will probably be long, and which may offer very 

 serious difficulties. The worst of these very narrow 

 rivers is that there is not room to use the paddle, and 



