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Updated: May 15, 2025
"You may be sure that I thought of that," Prescott answered. "I don't want to defraud any man. But birch bark suitable for canoes is getting to be a thing of the past in this country. Our friend, Hiram Driggs, the boat builder, told me that a birch bark canoe, nowadays, is simply worth all one can get for it. But, after Mr.
That canoe may have sunk on river-bottom rocks, and she may be badly staved by this time. But I've sent one of my men to fire the scow engine, and I'm going out to see what can be done in the matter." "And may we wait here?" asked Laura Bentley, full of eagerness. "Certainly, young ladies." "Oh, that's just fine of you, Mr. Driggs," cried Belle Meade.
He dragged a pump over, allowing its flexible pipe to rest down into the water in the canoe. "Now, some of you youngsters get hold of the pump handles," Driggs ordered. Five high school boys got hold with a will. Gradually, as the water was emptied out of her the canoe rose higher and higher in the water. There was no cheering, now, from the boys on the scow.
The war canoe looked like a bran-new craft! "Do you like her?" queried Driggs, with a smile of pride in the work of his yard. "Like her?" echoed Dick, a choking feeling in his throat. "Mr. Driggs, we can't talk -yet!" "Get hold," ordered the boat builder. "Carry her gently." Gently? Dick & Co. lifted their beloved treasure as though the canoe carried a cargo of eggs.
Danny Grin stood up, waving his hat and cheering hoarsely, while the girls who surrounded him waved handkerchiefs and parasols. Then the gunwale appeared just above water along the whole length. "It will be a hard job to bail her out now," Dave declared. "Not so hard that it will worry you any," Driggs smiled.
In desperation he went to Driggs, the editor. He was a shrewd fellow he would know what was best to be done. He found Mr. Driggs still in a sympathetic mood. He threw back his long black hair and read the article, with many exclamations of surprise. In places he smiled once he laughed. "How can any one answer this, Driggs?" asked Mr. Steadman in alarm. "What can be done about it?
At last they reached a part of the river where they had the ice all to themselves. "There's Payson's orchard, Greg," sang out Dave Darrin. "The place where you got grabbed last fall, by Dexter and Driggs, and carried off to be shut up in that cave." "Say, we ought to hunt up that cave, fellows," called Greg. "Whee! It might make a bully place for a winter camp.
Most of the college cried when they found that the two eminent authorities on tonsorial art were going to try to interfere with Millersburg's ambition, but those of us who were on to the deal simply prayed. We prayed that the whiskers wouldn't come off. They didn't, either. It was a grand game. We won, 20 to 0; and the school went wild over Pacey and Driggs.
He must get a copy of the paper. Reluctantly he went to the printing office and made known his errand. Mr. Driggs was delighted to give him the paper he had it some place, though he very seldom opened any of his exchanges. He evidently bore Mr. Steadman no ill-will for his plain talk two weeks ago. With some difficulty he found it, with its wrapper still intact.
"Then we won't take any of this money for the bark," insisted Dick, putting the rest of the money back on the table. "If you corner me like that," muttered Driggs, "I'll have to take your ten dollars. Now put the rest of the money back in your pocket, and divide it among your crowd whenever you're ready. Wait a minute until I make out a receipt for repairing the canoe.
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