"If I were steeped in sentiment, it wouldn't help me drive the canoe faster against a head-wind or carry a heavier load across a portage.

That's a purely mechanical proposition.
In the meantime, we're slowing up and will soon begin to drift astern." "Then paddle," said Agatha, smiling.

"After all, you're much more of a sentimentalist than I think you know." Thirlwell bent over his paddle and the canoe forged ahead, but the breeze freshened, and the ripples changed to crested waves.

Agatha's face was wet, her slicker dripped, and the men breathed hard between the strokes.

They labored on, and at noon ran the canoes aground in the lee of a rocky island.