"No, I don't think we'll move to-morrow," said one.
"Move from here!" said another.
"Well, I'm a frazzle," added a third.
"The Governor-General of all Canada," gasped another.
"And borrowing milk from us!" chimed in two more.
"No fish for supper," said Bob, "and my fault, too, but I'll get some for breakfast, or my name'll be Dennis." And he did get fish for breakfast, which was evidently more than His Excellency did, for about sunset the following evening a guide came paddling over with a large, square envelope directed to
Mr. "Bobbie."
Inside was this note, written in a small, firm hand:
"Lord Dunbridge presents his compliments to Mr. 'Bobbie,' and thanks him for the enjoyable fish dinner tendered him last evening. And would Mr. Bobbie kindly do him an additional favor? Would he come at six o'clock to-morrow morning to assist a poor fisherman who has had no luck to-day?"
That night Bob was a regular hero around the camp fire. The boys sang, "He's a jolly good fellow," and a dozen other gay choruses, while Bob looked to his tackle and bait, and gathered all the courage he could muster to meet the great man in the morning. He need not have trembled—it was no ordeal—for as he paddled up to the big camp a quiet-looking gentleman with an iron gray moustache and kindly, genial eyes, stepped down to the landing and held out his hand, and said, "Good-morning, Bobbie. I hope we shall be friends. I have been most unlucky; not a fish yesterday. We'll have to do better than that, won't we?"