There was a brief silence, then Lord Dunbridge continued, "Bob, you're a boy; so was I once, but I think you'll understand. You Canadian boys do seem to grasp things, some way or other. My boyhood was not quite as jolly as yours is--not so independent. You see, we always had tutors and things to look after us and keep us shut in, as it were, and I never knew, as I dare say you do, the pleasure of getting about by myself, and--" His voice trailed off as if he were thinking of something else. Suddenly he seemed to awaken, and, removing his cap, let the keen morning air blow across his long, fine hair--dark hair touched about the temples with gray. Then he smiled down at the sunburnt boy at his side, and said, as if he feared to be overheard, "Bob, I'd give five dollars to be a boy like you to-day, and be able to run those rapids in a canoe. Would it be safe?" "I've done it twenty times, Your Excellency," said Bob, eagerly, "and in this same old canoe here. I know every shoal, every rock, every bar in the river. Oh, sir, that _is_ sport, the very best sport I know of!" The spirit of the thing seemed to take hold of Lord Dunbridge, "Perhaps, Bob," he exclaimed, with a dashing enthusiasm, "perhaps, Bob, some day you and I will--" "Yes, sir, I think I know," interrupted Bob, as the other hesitated; then, in a half whisper, "I'll bring you through safely, sir, any time you want to go." "And you quite understand, Bob, you are to say nothing about that canoe trip we're to have, don't you?" said His Excellency, as they parted at the Governor's landing. Bob lifted his cap, saying very quietly, "Very well, sir, no one shall know." Then he paddled slowly, very slowly, away. His thoughts were busy. Here was he, Bob Stuart, an obscure boy from an obscure Ontario town, holding in common a secret with the Governor-General of all Canada, a secret that not even the Prime Minister at Ottawa knew. Then came the horror, the fear of an accident. Suppose something happened to the canoe. Suppose she split her bow on a rock. Suppose His Excellency "lost his head" and got nervous. Suppose a thousand things. But Bob put it all resolutely behind him. He felt his strong young muscles, his vital fingers, his pliant wrists. Yes, it was a great thing to be a boy--a boy whose great pride had always been to excel in typical Canadian sports, to be the "crack" canoeist, and to handle a paddle with the ease of a professional. It was worth everything in the world to recall the time when someone had tauntingly said, "Oh, Bob Stuart's no good at cricket and baseball. Why, he can't even play tennis. All he can do is to potter at his old Canuck sports of paddling a canoe and swinging a lacrosse stick." And Bob had laughed with satisfaction, and said, good-naturedly, "You bet! You're right. I'm for our national games every time." And now had come the reward; he was to run the rapids with the representative of the throne of Great Britain in the bow of his canoe.