"Hurrah, Lon! we've got the sort of day we've been looking for at last," cried Alec Pearson, as he met his chum one lovely still summer morning. "No trouble about getting over to Deschenes to-day."
"Right you are, Alec! This is just the correct thing. We'll start straight after breakfast—hey?"
"As soon as you like, provided mother's got the grub ready. Can't think of going without that, you know."
"No, sir. A basket of grub's half the fun. And mother's promised me a big one."
"Ditto mine," responded Alec. "So there's no fear of our starving for a while, even if we get cast away on one of the islands."
"Cast away on one of the islands!" echoed Lon. "That's a great idea! Wouldn't it make a great sensation?"
"Perhaps it would," replied Alec, who was of a more cautious and unimaginative cast of character. "But I'm not hankering to try it all the same. To get over to Deschenes will be enough fun for me."
The speakers were two boys of about sixteen years of age, sitting upon the front steps of a summer cottage, and looking out across the splendid stretch of water that flashed like a flawless mirror beneath the fiery morning sunshine.
They had come out to Britannia for the summer, and were enjoying its fine facilities for boating, bathing, and canoeing as only city boys, pent up in close quarters for three-fourths of the year, can enjoy such exhilarating sports.
The great Lake Deschenes filled them with profound admiration. They exulted in its magnificent breadth, its mighty length, its cool, limpid depths, and most of all the glorious rapids which marked the place where it gathered itself together to become the River Ottawa again, and resume its steady course seaward.