Aunt: “Oh, but I’m so tired! I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” Checkers: “I’m hungry! I’d like to be the muskrat.” Sybil: (Holding his hand under cover of her poncho) “I’m a frozen dog, but I’m having the time of my life.” Prince (_sotto voce_): “Only forty-eight hours more.” Polly: “Can’t be too few for me.” _Later._ A. D., I’ve made an awful mistake! I was too good to the Prince and he took advantage of it. In fact he was pretty naughty. You see he thought we were quite alone this afternoon, the others had gone fishing, and before I knew what he was doing, he entered my tent and had me in his arms, kissing my hair, my eyes, my mouth. I screamed and one of the guides ran in. Boris cursed him for interfering, so I simply asked the man to remain. There was nothing for the Prince to do but walk out. Then the guide looked at me funnily and said that the canoe didn’t tip over that time in the wind, that Boris had hired him to upset it, the spot being fairly shallow and perfectly safe. Apparently our Russian wanted to get the credit of an heroic rescue. So you were right after all. He’s not to be trusted. Also, there is a very queer thing that your little Sherlock Holmes has just discovered. He’s had letters come to him over another name, not in the least like his own. They fell out of his pocket when he was struggling with me. I picked them up--one was marked up in the corner with the name of some antique dealer. Can Boris be selling Peppi’s pictures? Is that the mysterious “business” that takes him from one big city to another? When you get back to Washington, ask about him at the Russian Embassy. Oh give me a good straight American man, say I! We’re about a hundred miles north of Toronto now. One day more and then we leave for home. * * * * * Fourth Day. A gray mist and an early start. I insisted on going in Checkers’ canoe. Boris and I are not speaking. Our two mile portage led to Rock Lake. Saw a bear and caught some trout and bass for supper. Railway in sight. To celebrate our last meal we indulged in a bonfire, had soup and a welsh rarebit, and gambled late into the night by the light of candles stuck into broken bottles. Fourth Day’s Remarks: Aunt: “Fiddlesticks! What’s all this trouble about?” Checkers: “Bow wow.” Sybil: “Meow, meow.” Polly: (Silence.) Prince: (More silence.) * * * * * Fifth Day. This morning the tents came down, fishing tackle was put away, clothes shoved into the duffle bags for the last time. We paddled across the lake to the hotel. Closing remarks by the Party: Aunt: “Camp generally becomes passably comfortable just as one nears the end of the trip.” Prince: “How I love the railway.” Sybil: “At the end of the last carry, still carrying on!” Checkers: “Prince Tripp tripped up--a spring trip! Polly’s eyes have been opened.” Polly: “They’ve never been entirely shut. I only winked occasionally.”