rkling in the morning sunshine. "Oh!" he
cried; "oh! ice! Isn't it cold?"

"You'll soon feel warm," I shouted; and a minute later he was up close
beside me, swimming easily, and every now and then dipping his head
under water like a duck.

"I shan't go away from here," panted Esau. "It's too lovely to leave.
I shall build a cottage down by the river side and live there, and then
we can fish for salmon. What more does a fellow want?"

"Let's wait a bit, and see what the rest of the country is like. We may
find a better place."

"Couldn't," cried Esau. "I say, one don't feel the water so cold now.
I don't want a place to be any better than this. It's just right."

"Well, let's swim back now, and dress. I want my breakfast, and I dare
say Gunson's ready."

"Bother old Gunson!" puffed Esau. "He's a regular nuisance. Is he
going to-day?"

"I can't talk in--the water."

"What?"

"Come on back now."

I had turned, and begun swimming steadily back, for the water hardly
flowed here close to the shore; and as I swam I kept on glancing up at
the huge trees, which were four or five times the size of any I had ever
seen before.

"Don't you want your breakfast, Esau?" I said, after a few minutes'
swim, but he did not answer. "Esau, come along." But still there was
no answer; and I turned round and looked back, to see that he was still
swimming in the other direction, and a long way from me.

"Esau," I roared, "come back!" and I had the satisfaction of seeing him
turn, and begin to swim in my direction.

Striking out strongly, I was making for the place where I had left my
clothes, when I suddenly heard him hail me.

"Hallo!" I shouted.

"Can't seem to get along here."

I stopped to watch him, and then a cold shudder ran through me, for I
could see that though he was swimming with his face toward me, he was
slowly gliding away by the trees on the opposite bank.

"He has got into the current," I thought; and I was going to shout a
warning, but I had the good sense not to do so, for I felt that it would
alarm him, and beginning to swim back, I cried--

"Turn in for the shore."

"Eh?"

"Make for the shore."

"Can't, lad," came back; and the cold chill I had before felt thrilled
me; while feeling as if I dared not speak, I swam towards him, in agony
all the time, for fear I should get into the current with which he was
struggling.

"Don't get much nearer," he shouted, coolly enough, for he had