you know," said he; "so I suppose that you and I will see much of each other hereafter."
"And how about me?" piped a shrill voice close beside me.
I looked down, and there was the creel. I had not thought of him before, and it was plain that the canoe hadn't either, for he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise:
"Who spoke? Oh, it was you, was it? Well, I don't know just what Joe will do with you, for he never owned a creel before. He has always carried his dinner in his pocket when he went trouting, or in a basket if he went out on the lake after bass, and brought his fish home on a string; but he will find use for you, you may depend upon that. He is a busy boy, is Joe, and he keeps every body around him busy, too."
"I understood you to say that you are the historian of the Wayring family," I ventured to remark, when the canoe ceased speaking.
"Of the youngest branch of it—yes. I have been a member of this household for a long time. Can't you see that I am a veteran? Don't you notice my wounds? I have been
