a line I'm rather stuck on."

"Let's have it!" cried Herb.

And Cyrus quoted:--

"As for this here earth,
It takes lots of laffin' to keep things even!"

"Now you've hit it! The man that wrote that had a pile o' sense. Come,
boys, it's been an awful full day. Let's turn in!"

As he spoke, Herb began to replenish the fire, and make things snug in
the camp for the night.

But shortly after, when he threw himself on the spuce-boughs near them,
the boys heard him murmur, deep in his throat, as if he took strength
from the words:--

"It takes lots of laffin' to keep things even!"

CHAPTER XXV.

A LITTLE CARIBOU QUARREL.

But things on this old planet seemed even enough the next day, when,
after a dozen hours of much needed sleep, the campers' eyes opened upon
a scene which might have stirred any sluggish blood--and they were not
sluggards.

A fresh breath of frost was in the air to quicken circulation and
hunger. Under a smiling sun an October breeze frolicked through leaves
with tints of fire and gold, humming, while it swiftly skimmed over
their beauties, as if it was reading a wind's poem of autumn.

Katahdin looked as though it had suddenly taken on the white crown of
age, with age's stately calm. The weather had grown colder during the
night. Summer--the balmy Indian summer, with its late spells of
sultriness--had taken a weeping departure yesterday. To-day there was no
threatening of rain-storm or slide. The mountain's principal peaks had
fleecy wraps of snow.

"Ha! Old Katahdin has put on its nightcap," exclaimed Cyrus, when the
trio issued from their tent in the morning. "Listen, you fellows! This
is the 21st of October. I propose that we start back to our home-camp
to-morrow. It will take us two days to reach Millinokett Lake. Then
we'll set our faces towards civilization the first week in November, or
thereabouts."

"Oh, bother it! So soon!" protested Dol.

"Now, Young Rattlebrain,"--Garst took the calm tone of
leadership,--"please consider that this is the first time you've camped
out in Maine woods. You might find it fun to be snowed up in camp during
a first fall, and to tramp homewards through a thawing slush. But your
father wouldn't relish its effects on your British constitution. And out
here--once we're well into November--there's no knowing when the
temperature may drop to zero with mighty short notice. I've often
turned in at night, feeling as if I were on 'India's cora