“Oh! that’s in my boat already. It burns kerosene, and makes a blue gas. Frank says it’s the boss in rainy weather, with those aluminum camp kettles for cooking. I reckon it must be a box of cake and pies the girls have supplied,” ventured Bluff.
“You’re away off, for they’re going to bring those things when they come. Besides, this isn’t in the shape of a box at all,” laughed Frank.
“That’s a fact, and it looks more like a spare blanket or two,” came from Jerry.
“Well, give it up, boys. I don’t believe you’d guess in a month of Sundays. Now, are you all ready?” queried the leader of the club, as he took up his paddle and prepared to look after the port side while Will worked the starboard.
Frank, being the more experienced of the twain, had the stern seat, as that is usually considered the post of greater responsibility in clearing rocks while running rapids, and generally guiding the craft.
“Say when!” called Jerry.
“The Red Rover is ready to meet the storm!” announced Bluff, whose little craft had a narrow band of red around its gunwale.
“Go!”
The four paddles dipped deeply into the water, and simultaneously the little canoes started into the teeth of the wind. There were a few shouts from the shore, and considerable waving of snowy ’kerchiefs from a group of girls standing before Frank’s house, which latter brought a series of salutes from the paddlers until the commodore of the flotilla sternly warned them that unless they paid more attention to what they were doing an upset would mark the beginning of their Spring outing.
After that they kept their eyes straight ahead. And, indeed, there was really need for all attention, since the waves were running quite high for such small vessels to meet. Still, a canoe, if properly handled, can live in a sea that will sink a much larger boat; since the tiny cedar craft mounts to the crests of the waves with the buoyancy of a cork.