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JOE WAYRING AT HOME.

for a suit of working clothes, he shouldered my friend, the canvas canoe, and carried him down stairs. Half an hour later he came back after the creel and me. He took us down to the boat-house and there we found the canoe, snugly tucked away in his chest like a tired boy in his little bed.

"Hurrah for me!" exclaimed the canoe, after Joe had gone out locking the door behind him. "I am going to Indian Lake, too. Now, if Joe can only keep clear of Matt Coyle, we'll see some fun before we get back. You think you know something about fishing; but wait until you get hold of one of those big lake trout, and then tell me what you think about it."

That was just what I wanted to do, but I didn't say so, for fear that when the time came I might discover that I was not quite so good a rod as I thought I was.

We were so very impatient to be off that the night was a very long one to us; but at the first peep of day we heard Joe's step as he came down the walk toward the boat-house. He placed a basket of provisions on the wharf, mildly scolded Mars for making such a fuss