“Have any of you boys ever handled a paddle before?” inquired Hiram Driggs.

“Oh, yes; in small cedar canoes,” Dave answered.

“All of you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you ought to get along all right in this craft.  But be careful at first, and don’t try any frolicking when you’re aboard.  Remember, a canoe isn’t a craft that can be handled with roughness.  Don’t anyone try to ‘rock the boat,’ either.  In a canoe everyone has to sit steadily and attend strictly to business.”

“A war canoe!  Isn’t it great?” chuckled Dan, as he started to help himself to a seat.

But Tom grabbed him by the coat collar, pulling him back.

“First of all, Danny Grin, shed that coat.  Then ask Dick which seat you’re going to have.  He’s the big chief of our tribe of Indians.”

“Better all of you leave your coats here,” suggested Driggs.  “You can get ’em when you come back.  And you can keep the canoe here without charge, so you’ll have a safe place for it.  Some fellows, you know, might envy you so that they might try to destroy the canoe if you left it in a place that isn’t locked up at night.”

When the boys were ready, in their shirt sleeves, Dick assigned Dave Darrin to the bow seat.  The others were placed, while Prescott himself took the stern seat, from which the steering paddle must be wielded.

“All ready, everyone,” Dick called.  “Dave, you set the stroke, and give us a slow, easy one.  We mustn’t do any swift paddling until we’ve had a good deal of practice.  Shove off, Dave.”

Darrin pushed his paddle against the float, Dick doing likewise at the stern.  Large as it was, the canoe glided smoothly across the water.

“Now, give us the slow stroke, Dave!” Dick called.

Soon the others caught the trick of paddling in unison.  Each had his own side of the craft on which to paddle.  Dick, alone, as steersman, paddled on either side at will, according as he wished to guide the boat.

“You’re doing finely,” called Hiram Driggs.

“Let’s hit up the speed a bit,” urged Dan Dalzell.

“We won’t be in too big a hurry about that,” Dick counseled.  “Let us get the knack of this thing by degrees.”

“Whee!  When we do get to going fast I’ll wager there is a lot of fine old speed in this birch-bark tub!” chuckled Tom Reade.

Dick now headed the canoe up the river.  For half a mile or more they glided along on a nearly straight course.

To say that these Gridley high school boys were happy would be putting it rather mildly.  There was exhilaration in every move of this noble sport.  Nor was it at all like work.  The canoe seemed to require but very little power to send her skimming over the water.

At last Dick guided the canoe in an easy, graceful turn, heading down the river once more.

“Now, you can try just a little faster stroke, Dave,” Dick suggested.  “And make it just a bit heavier on the stroke, fellows, but don’t imagine that we’re going to try any racing speed.”