"In 1875. The Government undertook the enterprise, and afterward handed it over for completion, to a private company. The explorations"-- At this point in the conductor's story, the train began to slow up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat and glancing at his watch, "this is North Bay, on Lake Nipissing. We stop here half an hour." "Come on!" shouted Tom, as the train came to a standstill, and down he rushed toward the shore of the lake, only a few rods distant. "Now, Captain Bess, let's see what you can do for a fire. I'll have one going before you get your match lighted." Bessie evidently accepted the challenge on the spot, for although she said nothing, she began hunting about for kindling at once. There had been a light shower the night before, and every thing was damp. Tom made a great fuss, scrambling about for chips and twigs, which he threw down in a heap on the pebbly beach, kneeling beside them, and hastily pulling a match from his pocket. It looked as though his sister was beaten. "Just wait a bit," remarked Mr. Percival, who was watching the contest with interest. Several passengers from the other cars also gathered about the fire-builders, applauding each in turn. Tom's first match spluttered, and went out. "Ho! she's given up," he cried, as Bess walked away from the group. But the girl knew what she was about. She stooped down beside a large log which had long ago drifted ashore. From its upper surface she stripped some thin shreds of birch bark, and beneath it she found a handful of chips, perfectly dry. Back she came, and down she went on the pebbles, at a little distance from her brother. "Hurry up, Tom!" shouted Randolph. For Tom's fire did not seem to progress favorably. Several matches had already been blown out by the fresh lake breeze, and the few twigs that had at last caught, now smoked feebly. "This is the meanest wood!" labored Tom. "Wet's water." And he essayed another match. All this time Bessie had worked industriously, saying nothing. She had broken and whittled her chips into small pieces, and now pulled off her pretty yachting cap, holding it closely over the bark while she struck her first match. Protected by her dress, and gathering courage in the shelter of the cap, it flared up cheerfully, catching the crisp edges of the bark in grand style. Down goes the cap, the girl's brown hair escaping in little curly tresses that toss in the wind. "I've almost got it!" shouts Tom, blowing at his smoking heap with all his might. "Go in, old fellow!" "Hurry, Bess!" The passengers added their cheers and laughter to the cries of the others. "There!" said Bess triumphantly, leaning back from her fire. For fire it was, truly, with the red flames dancing upward gleefully through the twigs, and cracking in a manner that said plainly they had come to stay. Tom generously joined in the applause that followed, and heaped all his hoarded fuel on his sister's fire, nearly extinguishing it in his zeal.