folding camp table and started the fire
in the stove with a bundle of fagots brought in by Hazelton.

"Now, get busy with the wash-up," Dick called.

Within thirty minutes after halting, supper was on the table.

"How far from a swimming place this time?" Tom asked.

"Three miles, if I've studied the map right," replied Prescott,
taking the road map from his pocket and passing it over.

"To-morrow," said Dave, "some of us will swim in plain sight of
the outfit all the time."

"Do you think you can hike three miles and swim before breakfast
in the morning?" asked Dick.

"The way I feel now," said Tom, pushing his campstool back from
the table, "I shan't need anything to eat to-morrow."

"You must feel ill, then," declared Danny Grin.

"No; I feel just filed up enough to last for two or three days,"
sighed Reade contentedly.

Harry and Greg were a bit footsore, but the other boys claimed
to feel all right.

"Do any of you feel like taking an evening walk?" asked Dick with
a smile.

"I do," Darrin declared promptly.

"Not I," replied Tom. "At least not so soon after supper."

"Shall we try the walk?" Dick asked Darrin.

"I'm ready," Dave agreed. "Come along, then." Though it was
dark, the two boys decided not to take a lantern with them.

"We don't need one on a public highway," said Dick as they plunged
off down the dark road.

"How far shall we go?" Darrin asked.

"I think two miles away from camp and two miles back, ought to
be far enough," Dick replied.

"If we feel like going farther, we can tackle it when the time
comes," Darrin answered. "But how shall we judge the distance?"

"We'll walk briskly for thirty-five to thirty-eight minutes,"
Prescott suggested. "Then we'll turn back. While we're out we
may get some idea of whether there's a swimming place nearer than
three miles from camp."

Neither felt in the least footsore. Indeed, these two hardy high
school boys thoroughly enjoyed their tramp in this cooler part
of the twenty-four hours.

"I wish we could live outdoors all the time," murmured Darrin,
as he filled his lungs with the fine night air.

"A lot of folks have felt that way," smiled Dick. "The idea is
all right, too, only the work of the civilized world couldn't
be carried on by a lot of tramps without homes or places of business."

"I've heard, or read," Darry went on, "that a tramp, after one
season on the road, is rarely ever reclaimed to useful work.
I think I c