Kittie and Bess soon disappeared behind their curtains, and the rest having followed suit shortly afterward, there was silence – for about three minutes. Then came the sound of a bump, and a delighted chuckle from Tom, in the upper berth.
“Coming right up through, Ran?” the girls heard him ask. “I thought the train was off the track.”
“You laugh much more, and I’ll get up there, somehow” —
“Boys, boys,” came Fred Seacomb’s voice. “Don’t quarrel.”
“Say, Fred” (from Tom), “lend me your eyeglasses, will you? I’ve lost my pillow.”
At this point Miss Adelaide became fearfully thirsty, and putting her head out between her curtains, timidly called across to her brother to “please get her a drink of water.”
The Reverend Rossiter, who was just settling himself for a nap, dressed again, and staggered off down the car, returning with the welcome draught.
“Anybody else want any?” he asked good-naturedly.
Everybody was thirsty, and the clergyman’s ministrations with his cups of cold water did not cease until he had made several journeys to the ice tank.
During the night the heavy train rumbled steadily along over two hundred and fifty miles of iron rails, and when Randolph awoke next morning, he found they were at Chalk River, a small town on the frontiers of the great forest wilderness of inner Canada, where a fifteen-minute stop was made.
Breakfast was served in the dining-car. Our friends secured seats close together, and made a jolly meal of it.
“Curious,” observed Fred, “to eat a breakfast twenty miles long!”
“That suits me!” laughed Tom, helping himself to griddle cakes.
“But it’s so pretty outside that I can’t stop to eat,” exclaimed Adelaide, with a nice little flush in her cheeks.
She had lived a very quiet, home-keeping life, the girls found. Everything was new and strange and wonderful to her.
“I should say somebody had been pretty careless with their camp-fires,” Randolph remarked, as they passed mile after mile of burned timber land, an hour or two later.
Mr. Houghton told them that thousands upon thousands of acres of forest near the railroad had been ruined in this way.
“Why,” asked Randolph, “how long has this railroad been built?”
Mr. Houghton thereupon gave them a brief account of the Canadian Pacific, one of the marvels of modern engineering.
“A railway from Canada to the Pacific,” he said, “laid all the way on British soil, was long the dream of public-spirited Canadians and Englishmen. On the confederation of the British Provinces in 1867, it became a real necessity.”
“I don’t see why,” put in Tom.
“The Queen must have a means of transporting troops, arms and ammunition from the home stores to the extremities of her dominion. Suppose her Pacific cities, existing and to be built, should be attacked by a foreign power. She can now throw fifty thousand men across the Continent in four days; or in less than a fortnight from Liverpool.”
“I should think it must have been a tough job to get through this wilderness,” said Randolph, glancing out of the window at the wild district through which they were passing.
“Much of the route lay through unexplored country. All about Lake Superior the engineers found a vast rocky region which opposed them at every step. You’ll see for yourselves to-morrow. Beyond Red River for a thousand miles stretched a great plain, known only to the Indian and fur trader; then came the mountains, range after range, in close succession, and all unexplored.”
“When did they really get to work?” asked Fred Seacomb.
“In 1875. The Government undertook the enterprise, and afterward handed it over for completion, to a private company. The explorations” —
At this point in the conductor’s story, the train began to slow up.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, rising from his seat and glancing at his watch, “this is North Bay, on Lake Nipissing. We stop here half an hour.”
“Come on!” shouted Tom, as the train came to a standstill, and down he rushed toward the shore of the lake, only a few rods distant. “Now, Captain Bess, let’s see what you can do for a fire. I’ll have one going before you get your match lighted.”
Bessie evidently accepted the challenge on the spot, for although she said nothing, she began hunting about for kindling at once. There had been a light shower the night before, and every thing was damp.
Tom made a great fuss, scrambling about for chips and twigs, which he threw down in a heap on the pebbly beach, kneeling beside them, and hastily pulling a match from his pocket. It looked as though his sister was beaten.
“Just wait a bit,” remarked Mr. Percival, who was watching the contest with interest. Several passengers from the other cars also gathered about the fire-builders, applauding each in turn.
Tom’s first match spluttered, and went out.
“Ho! she’s given up,” he cried, as Bess walked away from the group.
But the girl knew what she was about. She stooped down beside a large log which had long ago drifted ashore. From its upper surface she stripped some thin shreds of birch bark, and beneath it she found a handful of chips, perfectly dry.
Back she came, and down she went on the pebbles, at a little distance from her brother.
“Hurry up, Tom!” shouted Randolph.
For Tom’s fire did not seem to progress favorably. Several matches had already been blown out by the fresh lake breeze, and the few twigs that had at last caught, now smoked feebly.
“This is the meanest wood!” labored Tom. “Wet’s water.” And he essayed another match.
All this time Bessie had worked industriously, saying nothing. She had broken and whittled her chips into small pieces, and now pulled off her pretty yachting cap, holding it closely over the bark while she struck her first match. Protected by her dress, and gathering courage in the shelter of the cap, it flared up cheerfully, catching the crisp edges of the bark in grand style.
Down goes the cap, the girl’s brown hair escaping in little curly tresses that toss in the wind.
“I’ve almost got it!” shouts Tom, blowing at his smoking heap with all his might.
“Go in, old fellow!”
“Hurry, Bess!”
The passengers added their cheers and laughter to the cries of the others.
“There!” said Bess triumphantly, leaning back from her fire.
For fire it was, truly, with the red flames dancing upward gleefully through the twigs, and cracking in a manner that said plainly they had come to stay.
Tom generously joined in the applause that followed, and heaped all his hoarded fuel on his sister’s fire, nearly extinguishing it in his zeal.
“Camp Birch!” said Mr. Percival, naming it, as they named all their camp-fires.
A few minutes later the coals were scattered, for safety; and the engine giving its preconcerted call, the passengers hurried on board once more.
“Now,” said Selborne, “let’s hear the rest of the railroad story, Mr. Houghton.”
The latter gentleman, by no means averse to the task, accordingly continued.
“The surveys for the road made known the character of the country it had to traverse. In the wilderness about Superior, were found forests of pine and other timber, together with valuable farming land, and mineral deposits of immense value. The prairies beyond Winnipeg proved wonderfully promising for settlers; the mountains