No more delightful camping ground could be imagined than that discovered by the boys on Isle Perrot. Lying at the mouth of the Ottawa River, the arms of which pass on either side, as they flow into the larger stream on their way to the sea, the island is at all times tempered by cooling breezes, and the nights, especially, are so comfortable that once the traveler reaches the island he is loath to leave it.

The boys had no difficulty in finding a grove in which to pitch their tent. There was one near the water’s edge on the south shore. Across from here, Chot found by consulting his map, was Cascade Point, at the eastern end of the Soulanges Canal. This canal would carry them a great many miles around Cascades, Split Rock, Cedars and Coteau Rapids to Coteau Landing, where they would enter the river proper again.

Nothing occurred to disturb their slumbers. They awoke before sun-up, and despite the chilliness of the atmosphere, took a plunge in the cool waters of the river.

By seven-thirty they were on their way again, and paddling across the few intervening miles, they entered the Soulanges Canal. Here, of course, the water was smooth and still, and they moved along at a good rate, though the current somewhat retarded their progress.

Late in the afternoon they arrived at Coteau’s Landing, where they decided to spend another night. This spot is one of the most interesting on the St. Lawrence. Stretching out before them was Lake St. Francis, over which, by utilizing Clark and Grand Islands, one of our large railway systems has erected a bridge, almost at the head of Coteau Rapids. It is a magnificent piece of railway construction, and brought forth many admiring comments from the boys.

The next day’s journey took them as far as Cornwall, and they camped that night on the banks of the Cornwall Canal, after laying in a supply of provisions in the city.

Starting again in the early morning, the boys paddled through the canal, emerging at the upper edge of the Long Sault Rapids, and, hugging the shore, arrived late that night in Morrisburg.

By strenuous labors the following day they negotiated both the Rapid Plat and Galops Canals, arriving the next night at Prescott.

“Gee! but that’s some traveling,” said Pod, as they were pitching their tent again on the shore of the river.

“Well, we are past the last of the rapids,” said Chot. “Everything should be smooth sailing—or, rather paddling—into Rockport, which is within easy distance of practically every one of the Thousand Islands.”

“Say, are there really a thousand of them?” asked Fleet.

“I suppose there are—very likely more, but you must remember that many of them are but mere suggestions of islands—little tufts of grass, as it were, sticking up in the river.”

“I hope we’ll be able to find a good place in which to make our camp,” said Tom.

“My idea,” said Chot, “is to scout around among the islands for a few days to see if we can’t rent some sort of a cottage or lodge, where we can be comfortable in both pleasant and stormy weather, without depending too much on our little tent.”

“That’s a fine idea,” said Bert, “but, somehow, I imagine all such places are rented.”

“Possibly. At the same time, people come and go all summer long. If we watch our chance we may be able to get what we want.”

“Don’t you think that idea deserves a poem?” asked Bert, slyly winking at Chot.

“Oh, by all means,” said Chot, returning the wink.

Not since the evening they had subjected his verses to such severe criticism had Fleet attempted to recite. It was as if all thoughts of such things had been driven from his mind.

“Now, don’t start anything,” he advised them. “You didn’t appreciate my last effort, so I’ve decided to recite my verses to the trees hereafter.”

“Well, just imagine we’re the trees,” said Pod—“and perhaps we are; we all have trunks.”

“And they’re pretty well packed after that supper we ate,” smiled Chot.

They kept urging Fleet to recite, but he stolidly refused. Finally, some one suggested a song, and in this Fleet joined with a zest. But when they tried to start the Winton song, and waited on the second verse for him to come in with his original lines, there was blank silence.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Tom.

“Nothing,” replied Fleet, “only I’m not in the mood for original verses to-night.”

So they fell into the old-time darkey melodies, then into the choruses of several popular ballads, in all of which Fleet joined with enthusiasm; but at every suggestion of original matter from him, he turned a deaf ear.

“Well, if Fleet won’t recite, I’ll crack a joke,” said Pod. “Did you fellows ever hear of the man who had no flowers, yet kept a hot house?”

“No; how was that?” asked Bert.

“He had a scolding wife,” was Pod’s reply. “And did you ever hear of the little boy at school whom a visiting gentleman asked if his family ever played baseball?”

“No; starts off like a chestnut, but I’ve never heard it,” said Tom. “What did bright little Willie say?”

“Bright little Willie said: ‘Yes; me and mother play—I bawl and she makes the base hits.’”

At this there was a laugh in which Fleet joined. Noticing Fleet’s good humor, they tried again to get him to recite, but he shook his head.

“No; the next time you fellows hear from me you won’t be inclined to jolly quite so much,” he said.

“Eh? What do you mean by that?” asked Tom.

“Never mind; let’s change the subject.”

The boys were silent. Could this be their chum who, formerly, had hardly waited to be asked to recite—who would spring eagerly up on the slightest provocation and reel off rhymes by the dozen? They wondered what had come over him, but decided to let the matter drop for the moment.

“Fleet’s got something up his sleeve,” said Chot, a little later when the boys were preparing for bed and Fleet was, for the moment, out of earshot.

“I suppose we hurt his feelings the other night,” said Bert. “We were a little severe.”

“But we needed to be,” said Tom. “Those were the worst verses he has ever recited. I want to see his work improve, not get worse.”

“But you must remember,” said Pod, always ready to stick up for Fleet, in spite of their many disagreements, “that no one can recite verses on a minute’s notice and keep the standard up all the time. I’ll admit that Tom is right about the quality, but we ought to ease up on him now. I believe we have taught him his lesson, so let’s give him a chance to forget it, and I don’t believe he’ll try to run in any more fake rhymes on us.”

“Sh! don’t let him hear you,” said Bert.

Fleet, who had been rummaging in his canoe, was returning and the boys turned the talk into other channels.

They decided to make the rest of the canoe trip by easy stages, so starting early the next morning, they stopped off at Prescott for supplies, and continued on along the north shore to Brockville, where they had dinner.

After leaving Brockville, so many little islands dotted the surface of the river that the boys began to believe they were approaching their destination. These islands continued at intervals all the way to Rockport, fronting which city, late one afternoon, they sat in their canoes, viewing the famous summer resort of the St. Lawrence. The Thousand Islands lay before them, many dotted with cottages and tents, others, too small for comfortable living, uninhabited.

Somewhere out among those islands the boys were going to camp, and they could hardly wait until morning to set out in their quest of a suitable spot.

To those boys not familiar with the location of the Thousand Islands, it may be well to say that they spread out from the waters of Lake Ontario on the southwest to a narrow stretch of the St. Lawrence on the northeast, some thirty-eight miles distant, forming a chain, or archipelago, through which the clear, bright waters of the river go racing swiftly. They are composed of islands of all sizes, from a surface no larger than an ordinary dry-goods box, over which the water moves, to that of a substantial size, several miles in circumference, containing some villages, and, in one instance, an inland lake—the Lake of the Isles.

Hundreds of the islands contain no habitation, but stand, their rich, loamy surfaces covered with trees, in whose branches birds come to build. These islands remain undisturbed, save when pleasure seekers from some more populous center push their boats into the quiet reaches of their waters on a summer’s day.

There are really many more than a thousand of the islands, the lowest estimate being fifteen hundred, the highest eighteen hundred. And flowing in between them, winding this way and that, the river is limpid, fast-moving and deep, the depth varying from thirty to sixty feet.

The delights of the region had a strong grip on the young canoeists when, after a night spent in Rockport, they set out in the early morning in search of a lonely isle, where they could rest in peace and comfort for a few weeks, enjoying boating, fishing or reading, as the case might be.

In and out among the many channels they went, paddling with slow, easy strokes, now going against a strong current, now with it, until, finally, they found innumerable little islands stretching on all sides, none of which were, apparently, inhabited.

It is a law commonly observed in the Thousand Islands that camping privileges upon any of the uninhabited islands are free, so the boys began to look about for a good-sized island which would meet their approval from every standpoint.

“There’s a fine-looking island,” said Bert, pointing to where, over the tops of two or three smaller islands, a wooded knoll came into view, looking cool and shady.

“Yes, and there’s some sort of a house on it, too,” said Tom.

“May be just what we want,” said Chot. “Let’s go over there, anyway, and perhaps the occupant of the house can direct us to a good camping ground.”

“But let’s get an uninhabited island,” said Pod.

“Yes; let’s be Crusoes or nothing,” said Fleet. “Pod will make a good ‘man Friday.’”

“Hey, you, don’t start anything like that, or I’ll ram your old craft and send you to the bottom,” said Pod.

“Ram away,” replied Fleet.

He well knew which craft would be the first to capsize if Pod kept his word.

“Well, I’ll let you off this time,” said Pod.

“For which I am deeply grateful,” said Fleet, a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

They soon reached the island under discussion, and landing, pulled their canoes up on the shore and fastened them securely to some of the smaller trees.

Then, as they started up the slight incline toward the lodge which topped the rise, a man came out on the verandah and stood, regarding them curiously.