olid pieces of dry wood. These he covered with the
live coals and burning fragments, and these again with ashes; and then
he made over all a sort of conical "wigwam" of his slabs of bark,
putting flat stones against them at the bottom, so they would not easily
blow away.

"Couldn't do that with too big a fire. Always make a camp fire as small
as possible, so my father told me. That'll keep, if it rains ever so
hard."

"It's going to do that. Will our fish be safe?"

"Hanging in the water by the canoe? Of course they will. Who'll steal
'em? They'll be fresh, too, in the morning. We can't live on fish,
though. I can show you twenty ways of cooking birds."

They had crept into the tent now, and the rain was pelting harder and
harder.

"Glad the tent's well ditched," said Wade. "We'll be as dry as two
bones."

"Oh, but isn't it fun! But I tell you what, Wade Norton, I feel as if I
wanted to sleep about twenty-four hours."

[Illustration: SCENE AT A FRENCH FAIR--TRYING TO CUT THE STRING.]

FETE DAYS IN FRANCE.

The French are a very merry nation, and for their fete or festival days
have many jolly games to amuse both the children and older people. In
one of these a weighted string is hung up at one end of a tent, and the
children, starting from the other end, try to cut it with a pair of
scissors. This would be easy enough, were it not that each player is
blindfolded by a great hollow head with a grinning, ugly face, something
like the comic masks we see in the shop windows. There are no holes for
the eyes, and the head rests down on the shoulders of the player, like a
great extinguisher, making her look like the caricatures in which little
bodies are represented with big heads. The player turns around several
times before starting, and having no idea of the proper direction,
sometimes walks toward the sides, and snips the scissors in the faces of
the spectators. A drummer marches toward the string, making a loud noise
with his drum, but the sound oftener confuses than guides. If the player
really succeeds in cutting the string, a present is awarded as a prize.

The same play-ground also serves at night as a dancing hall, for the
French are very fond of dancing. Here is a little poem about French
fetes, which perhaps some of your grandparents will remember, as it was
written about sixty years ago.

"Come with the fiddle, and play us a tune or two;
Lasses and lads, bring your dancing-shoes.
Here