“A bright idea,” was the reply.
Therefore when they arrived at the upper end of the rapids, young Wentworth, turning to Master Daggett, said carelessly:
“There’s a better place for a camp across the river, Uncle David. Why can’t we go over there for the night?”
“Because I don’t want to,” the old man growled. “I never spend the night on the north side of the river. It gives me rheumatism.”
“An’ Late an’ I never camp on the south side; it gives us the chills and fever,” Joe retorted, thinking the separation with the old bird missionary might as well come then as in the morning, “so we’ll get you to set us across.”
For a moment the old man glared at him angrily, then said curtly:
“All right. Stow in your traps. I’ll leave mine here, for I shall come back after taking you over.”
Pleased with their success the young scouts put their packs into the light craft, and stepped in themselves. The owner of the canoe followed, taking up the paddle.
“I’ll row the boat across,” Late said, reaching for the oar.
“Sit where you are,” was the stern command. “I can handle this craft without any of your help.”