“No occasion for that. We will each hold to our own opinions, and I hope we may have no cause to think more ill of them.”
Tom and his friend Brush found Mr. Spooner an entertaining companion. He was an educated man, had read a great deal, and seen a good deal of the world, having pursued his professional studies in part at Paris and Vienna. It must be confessed that he looked like a tramp, but one who judged him by his outward appearance would make a great mistake.
It was toward the close of the afternoon. They had just forded a narrow stream, and safely landed on the other side, were about to resume their journey, when, in a little inlet half-hidden by the trees, they saw an object which startled them.
It was an Indian canoe.
“Do you see that, Tom?” said Brush, quickly.
“Yes; it is a canoe, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and it means that the Indians are not far away. Am I right, Dr. Spooner?”
“Probably you are, friend Brush.”
“What shall we do?” asked Tom.
“I suppose it will be best to push on. We shall never accomplish our journey unless we do, but we must keep our eyes open, and be prepared to come upon the Indians at any moment. What do you say, doctor?”