“Well, I swan to man!” I exclaimed, unconsciously making use of an expression which I had heard so often that I had become quite familiar with it. “How in the name of all that’s wonderful did you get back?”
“Glad to see you, old fellow,” replied the canoe, in his jolly, hearty fashion, “but sorry to hear that you got crippled. Where have you been?”
“Just got back from the doctor’s shop. I am all right again, or shall be in a few days. When and how did you return?”
“Came yesterday. Mr. Swan brought me. Found me hidden under a pile of brush, not more than twenty feet from the place where he and his party stood when they burned the squatter’s shanty. I saw and heard every thing that happened there.”
“Well, tell us all about it. I know you must have had some adventures during your absence.”
“Indeed I have; and I have brought a heavy load of anxiety back with me. How I wish I could warn Joe and his chums! The threats I heard made against them were enough to make even a canvas canoe shudder.”
With these preliminary remarks the canoe settled himself for an all-night’s task. I have not space enough in this book to repeat what he said, and besides, the narrative of my exploits, which so far are neither many nor brilliant I confess, is ended for the time being; so I will gladly step aside and give place to my accommodating friend, who is a more experienced story-teller than myself, and who, in the second volume of this series, will describe many interesting and some exciting incidents which happened during his captivity. His story will be entitled: The Adventures of A Canvas Canoe.
The End.