French River 
ing his ferry in the morning ? He was a tall, 
spare Highlander, and he surveyed us with his 
shrewd Scotch eyes, and in a deep voice in- 
quired, after the manner of his people, where 
we came from, where we were going, and what 
our names were. 
We answered and looked at each other in 
consternation, for while we might get aboard 
the high-sided boat, rocking in the water, what 
of Dan ? Could he and would he do this 
thing ? We did not believe that he could or 
would. 
While Torquil was taking the horse from the 
waggon, his daughter, aged eighteen, strongly 
built and rosy-cheeked, appeared upon the 
scene. She had come to help her father row 
us over the ferry, and was accompanied by a 
little boy and a solemn-faced baby. 
Torquil and his buxom daughter laid hold 
upon the waggon and pulled it out into the 
water and aboard the boat, that vehicle going 
through the most alarming contortions mean- 
time. Then it was Dan's turn, and we watched 
with bated breath as he waded out. 
" Get in there ! " said Torquil the ferryman 
— and Dan got in ! It was a beautiful sight. 
195 
