“All right. I go with you. Show me the town, then I’ll come back.” “Well, as you please. Only I don’t propose to pay you any longer than will take us, now by the shortest road, to Donovan’s.” “Time enough to borrow that trouble when you see it.” But Pierre suggested that, as Adrian wished to learn everything possible about the woods, he should now take the guidance of affairs, and that whenever things went wrong, he, Pierre, could point the way. He did this because, of late, he fancied that his young employer had taken a “too top-lofty” tone in addressing him; and, in truth, Adrian’s day dreams of coming fame and his own genius were making him feel vastly superior to the rough woodsman. They had paddled over dead water to a point where two streams touched it, and the question rose--which way? “That!” said Adrian, with decision, pointing to the broader and more southern of the two. “Good enough.” For a moment the leader fancied there was a gleam of malice in his hireling’s eye, but he considered it beneath his notice and calmly turned the canoe into the thoroughfare he had chosen. It was wonderfully smooth and delightful paddling. In all their trip they had not found so level a stream, and it was nothing but enjoyment of the scenery that Adrian felt; until it seemed to him that they had been moving a long time without arriving anywhere. “Haven’t we?” he asked. “Oh! we’ll get there soon, now.” Presently things began to look familiar. There was one curiously-shaped, lightning-riven pine, standing high above its fellows, that appeared like an old friend. “Why, what’s this? Can there be two trees, exactly alike, within a half-day’s rowing? I’ve certainly sketched that old landmark from every side, and--Hello! yonder’s my group of white birches, or I’m blind. How queer!” A few more sweeps and the remains of the camp they had that morning left were before them, and Pierre could no longer repress his glee. “Good guide, you! Trust a know-it-all for a fool.” “What does it mean?” demanded Adrian, angrily. “Nothing. Only you picked out a run-about, a little branch of river, that wanders out of course and then comes home again. Begins and ends the same. Oh! you’re wise, you are.” “Would the other lead us right?” “Yes.” “But it turns north. We’re bound south.” “That’s no matter. Can’t a river turn, same as run-about?” “I give up. You guide. I’ll stick to my brush.” This restored affairs to the ground which Pierre considered proper, and, having paused long enough to eat a lunch, they set out afresh. The new track they followed ascended steadily, and it proved a difficult stream to warp up; but the ascent was accomplished without accident, and then the surface of the land altered. Again they reached a point where two branches met, and Pierre explained that the waters of one ran due north, but the other bent gradually toward the south and in a little while descended through one of the most dangerous “rips” he had ever seen.