Some minutes before sunrise we went aboard our boat and took our places for a long pull up the lakes. There were two sets of rowlocks, with oars to match. Fred took one pair and Farr the other. Spot lay down on Farr's coat behind his master. I took the stern seat and steering oar. Scott had the bow seat and a paddle.

"All ready!" cried Fred, cheerily. "Give way! one, two, three, and away we go!"

By the time we were fairly out on the lake there was quite a "sea."

We made for Birch Island. The swells threw us about amazingly. There is much strength and friskiness in these fresh-water surges. Those were wild moments. Fred, Farr and Scott were pulling with might and main. The spray flew over us; the spatters drenched us. I expected every moment that we should be swamped. And as we drew near the island our case seemed not much improved. The waves broke against it fiercely.

"It won't do to let her run on there!" exclaimed Farr. "It will swamp her."

"Yes," said Fred; "but it is not deep water. Sit still and pull till I give the word, then jump out, everybody, and ease her ashore.

"Now for it! Over with you!" he shouted, a moment afterwards.

We leaped out, and carried the boat by main strength high upon the land.