at—indeed, I know I am not, because I can see my reflection in the mirror over the mantle—but I am the boss boat on the rapids, and am worth more on a 'carry' than all the cedar and birch-bark canoes in America. I am the historian of the Wayring family, or, rather, of the youngest branch of it," he added, with no little pride in his tones. "I carry secrets enough to sink any ordinary craft, and if I only had the power to communicate some of them to my master, perhaps he wouldn't open his eyes! I am a canvas canoe, at your service."
"Oh!" said I.
"Yes," said he. "And unless my judgment is at fault, you are a fly-rod. I heard Joe say that his uncle was going to get one for him."
"That is just what I am," I made answer. "Nickel-plated ferrules and reel-seat, artistically wound with cane and silk, and lance-wood throughout."
My lofty speech did not have the effect I thought it would. The canvas canoe seemed to have rather an exalted opinion of himself, and I did not see why I should stay in the background for want of somebody to praise me,
