“How?” inquired Ethan, stopping short in his occupation, with the frying-pan in his hand.
“He got light-headed and destroyed our balance. The centre of gravity fell outside the base, and as a natural consequence what took place naturally occurred.”
“Was that it?” said Ethan, slowly. “I heard ye capsized.”
After dinner the boys stretched themselves upon the bank, and in the cool shade began to talk over the experiences of the morning. At last even that topic ceased to interest them, and for a time they were silent.
“This is a great river,” remarked Ben, at last, breaking in upon the stillness, and looking out over the water, which was sparkling under the rays of the sun.
“So it is,” replied Bob, lazily. “That was an original remark, my friend. I’d like to know just how many times it’s been said since the first white man saw the river.”
“Bob’s going to tell us about Carter,” said Bert, solemnly.
“I know of no Carter. Cartier discovered the river, if he’s the one you have in what you are pleased to call your mind.”
“I stand corrected,” replied Bert. “Go on with your Carter or Cartier.”
“I don’t know that there’s much to tell. Jacques Cartier was a Frenchman who lived about four hundred years ago. Just think of it, fellows; four hundred years, almost, since the first white man saw the river St. Lawrence.”