tely so grand a sight. It was now but a
desolate and blackened ruin. Here and there charred trunks stood like
the chimneys of burned houses, and others lay upon the ground like
fallen and smoking rafters. Scattered about were great beds of living
coals, where the brush had been thickest, and smoke rose in columns from
the burned grass and hot earth. It was all like some great temple
destroyed by fire; and such it was, the grandest of all temples, the
natural temple of the forest.

"We kindled that fire," said Paul.

"I guess we did," responded Henry, "but we didn't know our spark would
grow into so great a blaze."

They swam to the bank and walked toward the remains of the forest. But
the ground was still hot to their feet, and the smoke troubled them.
Near the edge of the wood they found a deer still alive and with a
broken leg, tripped in its panic-stricken flight or struck by a fallen
tree. Henry approached cautiously and slew him with his clasp knife. He
felt strong pity as the fallen animal looked at him with great mournful
eyes, but they were two hungry boys, and they must have a food supply if
they would live in the woods.

They cleaned and dressed the deer and found that the carcass was as much
as they could carry. But with great toil they lifted it over the hot
ground, and then across another little prairie, until they came to woods
only partially burned. There they hung the body to the bough of a tree,
out of the reach of beasts of prey.

Then they took thought for the future. Barring the deer which would last
some time they would now have to begin all over again, but they resolved
to spend the rest of the present day, there under the shade of the
trees. They were too much exhausted with exertion and excitement to
undertake any new risk just yet.

Paul was afflicted with a great longing for home that afternoon. The
fire and their narrow escape were still on his nerves. His muscular
fiber was not so enduring as that of Henry, and the wilderness did not
make so keen an appeal to him. Their hardships were beginning to weigh
upon him and he thought all the time of Wareville, and the comfortable
little log houses and the certain and easy supplies of food. Henry knew
what was on his comrade's mind but he did not upbraid him for weakness
of spirit. He, too, had memories of Wareville, and he pitied the grief
of their people who must now be mourning them as lost forever. But he
had been thinking long and hard an