Orde swooped down on his son and tossed him on his shoulder

But Mr. Orde swooped down on his son and tossed him on his shoulder.
"That'll do," he advised, "we're all here. Lord, Corrigan! I thought you were afire at least."
"You got to show us up a reg'lar Christmas dinner to match that," said one of the men to Corrigan.
After the meal, which Bobby enjoyed thoroughly, because it was so different from what he had at home, he had a request to proffer.
"Papa," he demanded, "I want to go out on the booms."
"Haven't time to-day, Bobby," replied Mr. Orde. "You just play around."
But Jim Denning would not have this.
"Can't start 'em in too early, Jack," said he. "I bet you'd been fished out from running logs before you were half his age."
Mr. Orde laughed.
"Right you are, Jim, but we were raised different in those days."
"Well," said Denning, "work's slack. I'll let one of the men take him."
At the moment a youth of not more than fifteen years of age was passing from the cook house to the booms. He had the slenderness of his years, but was toughly knit, and already possessed in eye and mouth the steady unwavering determination that the river life develops. In all details of equipment he was a riverman complete: the narrow-brimmed black felt hat, pushed back from a tangle of curls; the flannel shirt crossed by the broad bands of the suspenders; the kersey trousers "stagged" off a little below the knee; the heavy knit socks; and the strong shoes armed with thin half-inch, needle-sharp caulks.
"Jimmy Powers!" called the River Boss after this boy, "Come here!"
The youth approached, grinning cheerfully.
"I want you to take Bobby out on the booms," commanded Denning, "and be careful he don't fall in."
The older men moved away. Bobby and Jimmy Powers looked a little bashfully at each other, and then turned to where the first hewn logs gave access to the booms.
"Ever been out on 'em afore?" asked Jimmy Powers.
"Yes" replied Bobby; then after a pause, "I been out to the swing with Papa."
They walked out on the floating booms, which tipped and dipped ever so slightly under their weight. Bobby caught himself with a little stagger, although his footing was a good three feet in width. On either side of him nuzzled the great logs, like patient beasts, and between them were narrow strips of water, the colour of steel that has just cooled.
"How deep is it here?" asked Bobby.
"Bout six feet," replied Jimmy Powers.
They passed an intersection, and came to an empty enclosure over which the water stretched like a blue sheet. Bobby looked back. Already the shore seemed far away. Through the interstices between the piles the wavelets went _lap_, _lap_, _slap_, _lap_! Beyond were men working the reluctant logs down toward the lower end of the booms. Some jabbed the pike poles in and then walked forward along the boom logs. Others ran quickly over the logs themselves until they had gained timbers large enough to sustain their weight, whence they were able to work with greater advantage. The supporting log rolled and dipped under the burden of the man pushing mightily against his implement; but always the riverman trod it, first one way, then the other, in entire unconsciousness of the fact that he was doing so. The dark flanks of the log heaved dripping from the river, and rolled silently back again, picked by the long sharp caulks of the riverman's boots.