But the river drivers did not mind this very much. The hated Black Rapids
were passed, and the rest of the Kippewa was comparatively smooth
sailing. So, with song and joke, they toiled away until all their charges
were afloat again and gliding steadily onward toward their goal.
Thenceforward they had little interruption in their course; and Frank
found the life wonderfully pleasant, drifting idly all day long in the
_bonne_, and camping at night beside the river, the weather being bright,
and warm, and delightful all the time.

So soon as the Kippewa rolled its burden of forest spoils out upon the
broad bosom of the Ottawa--the Grand River, as those who live beside its
batiks love to call it--the work of the river drivers was over. The logs
that had caused them so much trouble were now handed over to the care of
a company which gathered them up into "tows," and with powerful steamers
dragged them down the river until the sorting grounds were reached, where
they were turned into the "booms" to await their time for execution--in
other words, their sawing up.

Frank felt really sorry when the driving was over. He loved the water,
and would have been glad to spend the whole summer upon it. He was
telling Johnston this as they were talking together on the evening of the
last day upon the Kippewa. Johnston had been saying to him how glad he
must be that the work was all over, and that they now could go over to
the nearest village and take the stage for home. But Frank did not
entirely agree with him.

"I'm not anxious to go home by stage," said he. "I'd a good deal rather
stick to the river. I think it's just splendid, so long as the weather's
fine."