Pod had never paddled a canoe, but took to it naturally, his greatest fault being that he paddled too swiftly, and soon found his arms aching from the severe strain. Pod’s canoe, like those of Chot and Tom, was of the Canadian open pattern, about sixteen feet in length and perhaps thirty inches wide. Cushions, filled with cork shavings, served as seats for the young canoeists, with their feet resting on a stretcher to give them a good brace. Then there was a cushioned back-rest against which each boy leaned with a sense of comfort and security. In this easy position, the work of paddling was done, and Pod began to taste the delights of canoeing, though the muscles across his abdomen, which were brought into play with every stroke, soon grew sore, and a realization forced itself upon him that they would be still sorer by morning.

The boys proceeded up the river at a very leisurely pace. There was no hurry, and Pod could not paddle rapidly anyway. The little fellow found great difficulty in keeping his canoe on a straight course with a single blade paddle, but after a little the knack of turning his blade at the end of the stroke, so as to keep in one direction came to him as it comes naturally to all who practice. He found that this turn of the paddle was done by the wrist, and that when once acquired it was a very simple matter to keep the bow headed the right way.

Fleet was the only boy in the party using a double-bladed paddle, but Fleet’s canoe was twenty feet long, rather broad of beam, and capable of holding three persons. It was a much more formidable looking craft than those owned by the other boys. Fleet, however, had paddled the big canoe all his life, and the handling of the double blade was as easy for him as “rolling off a log.”

Chot and Tom, too, were experts, but neither liked the double blade, preferring the lighter one, as well as a lighter craft.

In Fleet’s canoe was stored most of the provisions, some cooking utensils and a small tent, intended to afford shelter during a storm, when the boys were in camp and sleep was necessary. Each boy carried as his individual luggage a suit case containing a dark business suit, a couple of extra shirts, collars, a pair of patent leather shoes, and other articles necessary to make a natty appearance if the occasion arose. Ordinarily they would need only their rowing clothes, which consisted of a soft shirt, a pair of old trousers and light-soled tan shoes. Each boy carried a sweater for use when the nights were cool, or when he became overheated before landing.

The breeze had entirely died away by the time the canoes were a mile up the river, and the boys paddled easily along, keeping abreast of Pod, so that if by chance, his canoe “turned turtle,” they would be on hand to render assistance.

The little fellow evidently suspected their purpose, for he said:

“Don’t worry about me. I can swim, can’t I?”

“Guess you can,” said Chot, “and a ducking won’t hurt you, but we’re going to stay right with you anyway.”

“I’m not going to upset. This is easy.”

“Don’t brag,” said Fleet, as he pushed his paddle deep into the river and sent his big cruiser flying a length ahead, then slowed down till the other boys caught up with him. “Nobody ever went canoeing that didn’t get upset, and you’ll get yours sooner or later. Better in the old Hudson, too, than in the rapids of the St. Lawrence.”

“And that’s no gentle dream,” said Tom, reverting to slang—a thing he seldom did.

“By the way, how long is it going to take us to reach the St Lawrence?” asked Pod.

“Don’t know,” said Chot. “We’ve no way of calculating. In the first place, we don’t know how long we’ll be at the Creighton’s; in the second place, we’re not going to hurry. This is a vacation and we’re going to take things easy—or at least, I am.”

“An easy time and plenty to eat—that’s my motto,” said Fleet, and immediately relapsed into verse:

There was a young fellow from Winton

Whose stomach he never was stintin’;

He’d eat day or night

When dark or when light,

Oh, he was a regular spinton.

“A regular what?” cried Tom, as he stopped paddling for an instant and looked up in surprise.

“A ‘spinton’,” repeated Fleet, with a chuckle.

“What the dickens is that?”

“Don’t you know what a spinton is?” asked Fleet.

“No; never heard of it.”

“I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Well, suppose you enlighten us,” said Chot.

“Can’t,” replied Fleet. “Don’t know what it is myself.”

“Then why did you use it?”

“Because it rhymed with Winton,” replied the fleshy lad, with a grin.

“By the way,” said Pod, “speaking of jokes.”

“Now, who said anything about jokes?” Fleet demanded.

“Well, you had your little fling, didn’t you? Give me a chance. Speaking of jokes, what is the best time by the clock to tell a joke?”

“Oh, give it up,” cried the other boys in unison.

“A joke is best appreciated when it strikes one,” said the little fellow. He laughed so loudly that his paddle slipped and he came near capsizing. Then it was the turn of the others to laugh, and they made the water ring with their shouts.

“Wish he’d gone over on that one,” said Fleet. “A little water might dampen his enthusiasm for making bad puns.”

“The question now is, where are we going to spend the night?” said Tom.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the highlands, and evening was nearly upon them.

“Well, it’s moonlight,” said Chot. “I thought we’d keep on at a slow pace until Pod feels tired. Then we can go ashore, make a little camp, and snooze till morning in the open.”

“Ah! that sounds good to me,” said Fleet. “We’ll also eat in the open.”

“You’ll have to open the ‘eat’ before you can eat in the open,” said Pod.

“That’ll do for you, youngster,” said Fleet. “Jokes are barred until to-morrow.”

“I’m down.”

“And you’ll be out too, if you don’t watch how you’re paddling,” said Chot.

Pod was evidently about “all in,” for his strokes were often wobbly, at which times he failed to control his canoe, and came near ramming one of the other boys.

“I’m good for another mile or so,” said Pod. “I know every muscle in my body will ache to-morrow, so I want to keep limber as long as I can.”

Finally the moon came out from behind a cloud and shed its radiance over the water, which appeared beautiful indeed in the soft yellow light. The boys were loath to leave the river, but Pod finally admitted that his arms were stiff and that he could not paddle much farther. As near as they could calculate they had covered eight miles, when Chot gave the order to swing in toward the shore.

A fine shady nook lay before them, where the green grass tempted them. All were hungry, so after pulling the canoes up on to the shore, the boys picked them up and carried them up on the grassy knoll, where, with trees all around them, they made preparations to camp for the night.

What boy has not thrilled with pride when he slept in the open, often with no covering save the blue canopy, studded with stars, and a moon throwing its soft rays in his face? American boys love this life, and lose no opportunity to go camping, hunting and fishing. The Comrades were no exception to the rule—in fact, were never quite satisfied when forced to stay indoors.

As soon as the canoes were pulled high and dry on the knoll, Chot began to give orders, showing what an expert camper he was. Indeed his experience was considerable as the reader may learn from the previous books of this series which commenced with “Comrades in Camp” and “In New York.” Then followed the stories of the South West “Ranch,” “New Mexico” and “Great Divide.” Later “School,” “Winton Hall” and “Oval.”

It had been decided that Chot should be the guiding spirit of this vacation; that all disputes were to be settled by him, and that he was to map out the route, say how long they should stay in a certain place—in fact, take the entire responsibility for creating the best of good times on the trip.

“Tom, you and Fleet throw out that tent, and while Pod and I are putting it up, get out a couple of cans of those cold beans, slice some cold ham, cut some bread, and put the water bottles where we can get hold of them. If any of you fellows feel like coffee we will build a fire and I’ll make it for you.”

“Yum, yum, coffee!” said Fleet. “That certainly listens well.”

“I think so too,” said Tom.

“Well, I believe I could drink a cup or so myself,” Chot admitted.

Chot and Pod unrolled the tent, which was “V” shaped, with no sides, being intended merely for a roof. They stretched it between the trees, spread four blankets on the soft grass, took the cushions out of the canoes, and the sleeping quarters of the party were ready for occupancy.

Then each boy turned his attention to the preparing of the meal. The coffee was soon steaming in a kettle over the fire, kindled by Pod with some dry leaves and branches. Tom cut slices of rye bread, and spread tempting pieces of boiled ham between them. Fleet opened two cans of beans, and a jar of raspberry jam, and all was ready.

To say that the boys enjoyed their first meal would be but half expressing it. Fleet ate everything that was put before him and cried for more.

“These beans are the finest I’ve ever had,” said he, though his mouth was so full that his words were hardly intelligible to his chums.

“Don’t forget your table manners,” said Tom. “Remember your mother taught you not to talk with your mouth full.”

“He’s not talking,” said Pod. “He’s only trying.”

“Blub—blub—blub—I’ll—I’ll—gug—gug—gug—get—you—fuh—fuh—blub—blub——” spluttered Fleet.

“Swallow it!” cried Chot, “and don’t do it again. We’re running a respectable boarding house—not a pig pen.”

Fleet swallowed as Chot told him, coughed violently, then seized one of the water bottles and drank long and hard.

“Leave the bottle, and we’ll fill it again,” said Tom.

With tears in his eyes Fleet waved his hand for them to desist. Pod jumped up and patted him on the back with no gentle force, which straightened the fleshy one out in a hurry.

“What do you think you’re doing, anyway?” he demanded, glaring at his little comrade. “I’m no punching bag!”

“That so? Thought you were.”

“Fleet has eaten enough to last him three days,” said Chot. “Remember, fellows, he gets nothing but water during that time. There must be something left for the rest of us.”

“Humph! I’d like to see you fellows keep me from eating!” snorted Fleet.

“Oh, you’d like to? Well, then, watch us.”

It was ten o’clock when the boys had finished telling stories and discussing their trip. By that time all were sleepy, and Pod was beginning to feel lame all over.

“Gee! I hate to lie down, fellows,” he said. “I know I won’t be able to move in the morning.”

Then the boys rolled up in their blankets, and fifteen minutes later were so deep in Slumberland that not even Fleet’s snoring created an impression.