little curious about such a fire-place, but decided to wait
and see what his friend meant.

Wade's father was an old army officer, and had taken his boy with him on
more than one "camping-out" excursion, while Sid was taking his very
first lesson.

"That'll do. Now for some fish. You go ahead, while I pluck the
partridges."

"Guess not. I can do that as well as you can. Give me one of 'em."

It was easy work to strip the tender game and hang it in the tent, but
the boys were thoroughly tired of mere "going into camp" by the time
they started for the lake.

"Hullo, Sid! If there isn't the old dug-out floating yet!"

"That thing out there by the snag? We can't get at her."

"Can't we? Can't you swim as far as that? I can."

"Swim? Oh yes, of course we can. Shall you go now?"

"Why, no; not till we get in fish enough for dinner."

"That's it. We're Indians. Got to fish, hunt, or starve--or live on
hard-tack and bacon."

Pot Lake was a great place for trout, and both of the boys knew how to
handle a rod.

"No three-inchers; none of your speckled minnows," shouted Sid, as he
landed a half-pound beauty.

"Here comes a bigger one. Oh, but isn't this fun?"

"Better fun than going into camp."

"Or tramping through the woods with a load. But don't you begin to feel
hungry?"

"Begin? Well, you may say begin if you want to. Seems to me I began a
little while after breakfast," replied Sid.

They had caught more fish than any two boys could eat; but Sid's first
remark on reaching the tent with them was, "I do hate cleaning fish."

"Clean fish? Out here in the woods? While we're Indians? You wait till I
find a bass-wood tree."

There were plenty of lindens, or bass-woods, in that vicinity, and the
broad flat leaves were as good as brown paper to wrap up a trout in,
fold over fold.

The fire had now burned long enough to supply Wade with a heap of hot
ashes, which he raked out on one edge of it. All the little coals were
carefully poked aside, the leaf-covered trout were put down and
smothered an inch deep in their ashy bed, and then a pile of glowing
cinders was raked over them.

"They'll cook, Sid. You go to the lake for a kettle of water, while I
get out the frying-pan and the coffee-pot."

"Frying-pan! We won't need any bacon with all those fish and the
partridges."

"We'll only broil one bird, but we must have some hard-tack. I'll show
you."

Sid went for the water, but when he got back Wade was p