long again to the old
song to which he and his brother had so often made their canoe slip in
those great days that now seemed so far away.

"En roulant ma boule,"

sang his paddle in spite of all he could do. He could hear Dick's clear
tenor from the bow. "Here, confound it! Quit it, I say!" he said aloud
savagely.

"En roulant ma boule roulant,"

in a clear strong voice came the old song from around the bend. The
doctor almost dropped his paddle into the stream.

"Heavens above!" he muttered. "What's that? Who's that?"

"Visa la noir, tua le blanc,
Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant,"

sang the voice. There was only one who could sing that verse just that
way. With two swift heaves of the paddle he lifted his canoe into the
overhanging bushes, noiselessly leaped ashore, and pulled his canoe up
the bank after him. Down the river still came the song, and ever nearer.

"O fils du roi tu es mechant,
En roulant ma boule."

The doctor cautiously parted the bushes and looked out. Close to the
bank came the canoe, the singer sitting in the stern, his hat off and
his face showing brown against the fair hair. How strong he looked and
how handsome! Barney remembered his own boyish pride in his brother's
good looks. Yes, he was handsome as ever, and yet he was different.
"He's older, that's it," said the man in the bushes, breathing hard. No,
it was not that altogether. There was a new gravity, a new dignity, upon
the face. All at once the song ceased abruptly. The paddle was laid down
and the canoe allowed to drift. The current carried her still nearer
the shore. Every line in the face could now be seen. The man peering out
through the bushes was conscious of a sharp thrust of pain. The lines in
that grave, handsome face were lines drawn with some sharp instrument
of grief. The change was not that of years, it was more. Not simply the
gravity of responsible manhood, it was that, and something else. This
was the change, the old careless gaiety was gone out of the face and in
its place sadness, almost gloom. Straight down the river the grave, sad
face was turned, but the eyes were fixed with unseeing gaze upon the
flowing water. The canoe was now almost abreast the hiding place in the
bushes and still drifting. Suddenly the man in the canoe, lifting up his
face toward the sky, cried out, "I'll bring her back, please God, and
I'll find him, too!" The watcher drew back quickly.