The stream twisted and turned, until Frank did not know in which
direction he was going.
Suddenly, as he was paddling, he heard a sound that made him draw the
blade from the water, and listen intently. It was the noise made by water
dashing on rocks, and it seemed but a short distance ahead.
"Falls!" exclaimed the boy. "I've got to get out and carry the boat."
He kept on until, in the moonlight, he could see where there came a break
in the stream as it tumbled over a little cliff. Swinging the nose of the
canoe ashore, Frank grounded the craft and got out. He walked to the edge
of the falls and looked at them. They made a beautiful picture in the
moonlight, but it was a scene the boy found little pleasure in gazing at.
It meant that he would have to carry the boat around them.
"Well, there's no help for it," he said, with a sigh. "Luckily the canoe
is light."
Frank picked it up, and put it over his head and shoulders, as the Maine
guides carry their frail craft. The way was rough, and before he was half
way past the falls, Frank began to fear he could not make it. But he kept
on, and half an hour later he floated the canoe into the quiet waters at
the foot of the waterfall.
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