On Monday morning we again had wild raspberries for breakfast. After the chores were done and everything packed except our dishes, we went over to the neigh­bouring camp for a ball game.

Several of the Rotary Camp boys had begged me to come and play for them again so after dinner while Ralph packed my duffle into the canoe, I entertained the boys again as best I could.

Bobs and Cecil, Ralph and Arthur,
These are four who a-paddling go;
Jack and Shorty, Joe and Goofer,
Eight there are with backs bent low;
Franklin, Bob and even Alec,
Yes, eleven ’cludes us all,
And we’re loath to turn back homeward
For we’ve heard the northland call.

We left this delightful spot right after dinner in a head wind but managed to reach the end of the lake without getting the bow men very wet. Other than bucking this head wind the trip down the river was uneventful. At dusk we made camp in a field of real hay about three miles above Peterborough. Not long after disembarking, our nostrils were assailed with the fragrant odour of steak and onions sizzling merrily in the frying pans. This was a real treat for supper.

Later some one had the bright idea of spreading hay a foot thick all over the floor of the tent. What a springy bed! Did we sleep that night? Why ask?