"Your turn, Miss Bruce," said Paul. And Eve and Jack were placed in a second canoe. One of the Indians was to paddle it, but he was not quite ready. Paul and Cicely did not wait; they started. "I's a-goin' wis old Eve!--_old_ Eve!--_old_ Eve!" chanted Jack, at the top of his voice, to the tune of "Charley is my darling," which Hollis had taught him. "Seems mean that she should have to go with a Chip, when there are white men round," said Hollis. The judge made no reply. But Eve at that moment called, "Mr. Hollis, are you busy? If not, couldn't you come with me instead of this man?" Hollis advanced to the edge of the woods and made a bow. "I am exceedingly pleased to accept. My best respects." He then took off his coat, and, clucking to the Indian as a sign of dismissal, he got into the canoe with the activity of a boy, and pushed off. It was a beautiful day. The thick woods on the shore were outlined sharply in the Northern air against the blue sky. Hollis paddled slowly. "Why do you keep so far behind the other boat?" said Eve, after a while. "That's so; I'm just loafing," answered Hollis. "Christopher H., paddle right along," he went on to himself. "You needn't be so afraid that Paul will grin; he'll understand." And Paul did understand. At the end of half an hour, when Eagle Point was reached, and all had disembarked, he came to Hollis, and stood beside him for a moment. "This canoe is not one of the best," Hollis remarked. "No," said Paul. "I think we can make it do for a while longer, though," Hollis went on, examining it more closely. "I dare say we can," Paul answered. They stood there together for a moment, rapping it and testing it in various ways; then they separated, perfectly understanding each other. "I really didn't try to come with her:" this was the secret meaning of Hollis's remark about the canoe. And "I know you didn't," was the signification of Paul's answer. Cicely and Eve were sitting on the beach. It was a wild shore, clean, untouched by man; the pure waters of the lake rolled up and laved its glistening brown pebbles. Jack ramped up and down against Eve's knees. "Sing to Jacky--poor, _poor_ Jacky!" he demanded loudly. "That child is too depressing with his 'Poor Jacky'!" said Cicely. "Never say that again, Jack; do you hear?" "Poor, _poor_ Jacky!" said the boy immediately, as though he were irresistibly forced to try the phrase again. "He heard some one say it to that parrot in Port aux Pins," explained Eve. "Oh, I shall never be able to govern him!" Cicely answered. "Sing to Jacky, Aunty Eve--poor, poor Jacky!" And in a low tone Eve began to sing: _"'Row the boat, row the boat up to the strand;_ _Before our door there is dry land._ _Who comes hither all booted and spurred?_ _Little Jacky Bruce with his hand on his sword.'"_ Paul came up. "Now for a walk," he said to Cicely.