parts."

As the draggled pair were making towards the hut, which stood about six
feet from the fire, to follow his advice, its bark door was suddenly
pushed wide open. Forth stepped, or rather staggered, another boy,
younger and shorter than Neal. His tumbled fair hair was here and there
adorned with a green pine-needle, which was not remarkable, considering
that he had just arisen from a bed of pine boughs. Sundry others were
clinging to the surface of the warm, fleecy blankets in which he was
wrapped, and his feet were thrust into a pair of moccasins. He had the
appearance and voice of a person awaking from sound sleep.

"I say, you fellows, it's about time you got back!" he said, rubbing his
heavy eyes, and addressing the hunters. "I hope you've had some luck. I
dreamt that I was smacking my lips over a venison steak."

"Smack 'em w'en you git it, honey!" remarked Uncle Eb, while he mixed a
plain batter of flour, baking-powder, and cold water, which he dropped
in big spoonfuls on a frying-pan, previously greased, proceeding to fry
the mixture over his camp-fire.

The thin, round cakes which presently appeared were the "flapjacks"
despised by Cyrus as insufficient diet.

Without waiting to answer the new boy's greeting, the hunters had
disappeared into the bark shanty. When next they issued forth they were
rigged up Indian fashion in moccasins and blankets, the latter being
doubled and draped over their underclothing,--of which luckily they had
a dry supply,--and gathered round their waists with leather straps.
Knitted caps, usually worn when sleeping, adorned their heads.

"You see, we followed Dol's example and your advice, Uncle Eb," said
Cyrus, as they seated themselves by the camp-fire. "And I tell you these
make tip-top dressing-gowns when you're feeling a little bit chilly
after a drenching. We didn't bring along a second suit of tweeds for the
simple reason that we mean to do some pretty rough tramping with our
packs on our backs, and then a fellow is likely to grumble at any
unnecessary pound of weight he carries."

"Shuah--shuah!" assented Uncle Eb.

"And that is why we left our fishing-rods behind," continued Garst. "You
see, our main object this trip is neither hunting nor fishing. But a
creel of gamey trout from Squaw Pond would come in handy now to
replenish our larder."

"Wal, I b'lieve I'll fix up a rod to-mo-oh an' hook a few, fer de pork's
givin' out. Hain't got mich use fer trout meself.