“That is the cutter of Jasper, uncle,” said Mabel hurriedly; “and a very pretty vessel I think it is.  Its name, too, is the Scud.”

“Ay, it will do well enough for a lake, perhaps, but it’s no great affair.  The lad has got a standing bowsprit, and who ever saw a cutter with a standing bowsprit before?”

“But may there not be some good reason for it, on a lake like this, uncle?”

“Sure enough —­ I must remember this is not the ocean, though it does look so much like it.”

“Ah, uncle!  Then Ontario does look like the ocean, after all?”

“In your eyes, I mean, and those of Pathfinder; not in the least in mine, Magnet.  Now you might set me down out yonder, in the middle of this bit of a pond, and that, too, in the darkest night that ever fell from the heavens, and in the smallest canoe, and I could tell you it was only a lake.  For that matter, the Dorothy” (the name of his vessel) “would find it out as quick as I could myself.  I do not believe that brig would make more than a couple of short stretches, at the most, before she would perceive the difference between Ontario and the old Atlantic.  I once took her down into one of the large South American bays, and she behaved herself as awkwardly as a booby would in a church with the congregation in a hurry.  And Jasper sails that boat?  I must have a cruise with the lad, Magnet, before I quit you, just for the name of the thing.  It would never do to say I got in sight of this pond, and went away without taking a trip on it.”

“Well well, you needn’t wait long for that,” returned Pathfinder; “for the Sergeant is about to embark with a party to relieve a post among the Thousand Islands; and as I heard him say he intended that Mabel should go along, you can join the company too.”

“Is this true, Magnet?”

“I believe it is,” returned the girl, a flush so imperceptible as to escape the observation of her companions glowing on her cheeks; “though I have had so little opportunity to talk with my dear father that I am not quite certain.  Here he comes, however, and you can inquire of himself.”

Notwithstanding his humble rank, there was something in the mien and character of Sergeant Dunham that commanded respect:  of a tall, imposing figure, grave and saturnine disposition, and accurate and precise in his acts and manner of thinking, even Cap, dogmatical and supercilious as he usually was with landsmen, did not presume to take the same liberties with the old soldier as he did with his other friends.  It was often remarked that Sergeant Dunham received more true respect from Duncan of Lundie, the Scotch laird who commanded the post, than most of the subalterns; for experience and tried services were of quite as much value in the eyes of the veteran major as birth and money.  While the Sergeant never even hoped to rise any higher, he so far respected himself and his present station as always to act in a way to command