the last heap of logs. I caught it up,
and flung it at him. It struck him on the side, and curled him up. I
thought he was badly hurt; but he jumped the next moment, screeched, and
made off. A pleasant scream he has; sounds kind o' cheerful at night,
don't it?"

No one answered this sarcasm; and Herb flung himself again upon his
boughs, pulling his worn blanket round him, determined not to relinquish
his night's sleep because a lynx had visited his camp. The city fellows
sensibly tried to follow his example; but again and again one of them
would shake himself, and rise stealthily, convinced that he heard the
blood-curdling screech ringing through the silent night.

It was nearly morning before fatigue at last overmastered every
sensation, and the three fell into an unbroken sleep, which lasted until
the sun was high in the sky. When they awoke, their sense of smell was
the first sense to be tickled. Fragrant odors of boiling coffee were
floating into the tent. One after another they scrambled up, threw on
their coats, and hurried out to find their guide kneeling by the
camp-fire on the very spot from which he had hurled his axe at the lynx
a few hours before. But now his right hand held a green stick, on which
he was toasting some slices of pork into crisp, appetizing curls.

"'Morning, boys!" he said, as the trio appeared. "Hope your early rising
won't opset ye! If you want to dip your faces in the stream, do it
quick, for these dodgers are cooked."

The "dodgers" were the familiar flapjacks. Herb set down his stick as he
spoke to turn a batch of them, which were steaming on the frying-pan,
tossing them high in air as he did so, with a dexterous turn of his
wrist.

The boys having performed hasty ablutions in the stream, devoted
themselves to their breakfast with a hearty will. There was little
leisure for discussing the midnight visit of the lynx, or for anything
but the joys of satisfying hunger, and taking in nutrition for the day's
tramp, as Herb was in a hurry to break camp, and start on for Katahdin.
The morning was very calm; there seemed no chance of a wind springing
up, so the evening would probably be a choice one for moose-calling.

In half an hour the band was again on the march, the business of
breaking camp being a swift one. The tent was on Herb's shoulders; and
naught was left to mark the visit of man to the humming stream but a
bed of withering boughs on which the lynx might sleep to-night, and