o you hear anything?"

"I hear--I hear--'pon my word! I _do_ hear the bubbling and tinkling of
water somewhere! Where on earth is it? Oh! I know. It comes from that
knoll over there--the one with the bushes."

Dol Farrar, as he finished his jerky sentences, pointed to an eminence
which was two or three hundred yards from where they stood, and a like
distance from the wall of forest.

"Well! It's about time we struck something at last," grumbled Garst.
"Catch me ever coming on a water pilgrimage again! I'll let Herb fill
his own kettle in future. Now, I believe that fellow could smell a
spring."

"Just as I smelt this one!" exclaimed Dol triumphantly. "I told you
'twas on the side of the knoll. And here it is!"

"Bravo, Chick! You've got good ears, if you are crazy upon one subject."

And so speaking, Cyrus, with a chuckle of joy, unslung the tin
drinking-cup which hung at his belt, filled and refilled it, drinking
long, inspiriting draughts before he prepared to fill the camp-kettle.

"The best water I ever tasted, Dol!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips.
"It's ice-cold. There's not much of it, but it has quality, if not
quantity."

The long-sought well was, in truth, a tiny one. It came bubbling up,
clear and pellucid, from the bowels of the earth, and showed its
laughing face amid a cluster of bushes--which all bent close to look at
it lovingly--half-way up the knoll. A wee stream trickled down from
it,--dribble--dribble--a rivulet that had once been twice its present
size, judging from the wide margin of spattered clay at each side.

Dol had been following his companion's example, and drinking joyfully
before thinking of aught else. When the moment came for him to
straighten his back, and rise upon his legs, instead of this natural
proceeding, he suddenly crouched close to the ground, his breath coming
in quick puffs, his eyes dilating, a froth of excitement on his lips.

"What on earth are you staring at?" asked Cyrus. "You look positively
crazy."

For answer, the English boy shot up from his lowly posture, seized his
companion by the arm, making him drop the camp-kettle, which he was just
filling, and forced him to scan the soft clay by the rivulet.

"Look there--and there!" gurgled Dol, his voice sounding as if he was
being choked by suppressed hilarity. "I told you we'd find them, and you
didn't believe me! Aren't those moose-tracks? They're not deer-tracks,
anyhow; they're too big. I may be a greenho