in orders that all be formally enlisted and put in uniform.

Not a few withdrew from the service; some, like Quonab, reluctantly
consented, but Rolf was developing the fighting spirit, and was proud to
wear the colours.

The drill was tedious enough, but it was of short duration for him.
Despatches were to go to Albany. The general, partly to honour Rolf,
selected him.

"Are you ready for another run, Kittering?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then prepare to start as soon as possible for Fort George and Albany.
Do you want a mate?"

"I should like a paddler as far as Fort George."

"Well, pick your man."

"Quonab."

And when they set out, for the first time Rolf was in the stern, the
post of guidance and command. So once more the two were travelling again
with Skookum in the bow. It was afternoon when they started and the
four-mile passage of the creek was slow, but down the long, glorious
vista of the noble George they went at full canoe-flight, five miles an
hour, and twenty-five miles of the great fair-way were reeled and past
when they lighted their nightly fire.

At dawn-cry of the hawk they sped away, and in spite of a rising wind
they made six miles in two hours.

As they approached the familiar landing of Van Trumper's farm, Skookum
began to show a most zestful interest that recalled the blackened pages
of his past. "Quonab, better use that," and Rolf handed a line with
which Skookum was secured and thus led to make a new record, for this
was the first time in his life that he landed at Van Trumper's without
sacrificing a chicken in honour of the joyful occasion.

They entered the house as the family were sitting down to breakfast.

"Mein Hemel! mein Hemel! It is Rolf and Quonab; and vere is dot tam dog?
Marta, vere is de chickens? Vy, Rolf, you bin now a giant, yah. Mein
Gott, it is I am glad! I did tink der cannibals you had eat; is it dem
Canadian or cannibal? I tink it all one the same, yah!"

Marta was actually crying, the little ones were climbing over Rolf's
knee, and Annette, tall and sixteen now, stood shyly by, awaiting a
chance to shake hands. Home is the abiding place of those we love; it
may be a castle or a cave, a shanty or a chateau, a moving van, a tepee,
or a canal boat, a fortress or the shady side of a bush, but it is home,
if there indeed we meet the faces that are ever in the heart, and find
the hands whose touch conveys the friendly glow. Was there any other
spot on earth where he coul