with it in time for us to have 

 a substantial breakfast. Thus 

 cheered, we counted off the boxes 

 and bundles hoping that Creche 

 might have been "mistaken," as we 

 politely put it. Alas, this time he 

 had spoken the truth. There was a 

 big brown canvas roll missing, and 

 it was mine. 



In an excess of thriftiness, I had 

 put into it all things necessary for 

 my use in the tent bedding, cloth- 

 ing, toilet articles, everything that 

 represented my personal comfort and 

 independence. No one had a surplus 

 from which to supply me. There 

 was no question. The bundle must 

 be found. 



I knew it had crossed the Ottawa 

 for I had seen it. " Poor Creche, he 

 may have to travel the whole of the 

 forty-five miles to the River. That 

 bundle must weigh nearly a hundred 

 pounds. He never could carry it all 

 the way back in one day," I said, 

 adding " How would you like to do 

 it, George?" For that person's face 

 wore a quizzical look I could not 

 understand. He was packing am- 

 munition in a bag for Bobbie 



