e city we live, but in the mountains we live
more abundantly."

By eleven o'clock the party sat around a half-dozen blazing campfires,
munching at a midnight lunch and speculating on various phases of
the work. Ham was keeping the fellows around one fire laughing over
his remarks; Fat was giving expression to his views on camp grub and
food in general. Mr. Dean entertained another group by his stories of
army life, while Mr. Allen and a number of the boys' Cabinet were laying
out a plan of work for the morrow. Shorty Wier advised work on the
fireplace first, because, as he pointed out, "the fireplace would be
the cabin's heart." It might have fine decorations and new rooms, a
well-stocked pantry and new furniture, yet what would all these be to a
dead thing? The fireplace would be the spot around which all the cabin
life would congregate--around which every strange experience would be put
into words. "Yes, I'll help cut the logs and pack in the lumber and build
the furniture, but first of all let me see the rugged stone chimney with
a fire quietly burning on a great, wide, friendly hearth to cheer me as I
work."

"You are right, Shorty," cried Willis. "I'm with you, for when the old
fireplace is built, and the wind is whistling down the canyon, bringing
messages of snow, we'll forget everything outside and just be happy
toasting before a great log fire."

And so the night slipped along. After a while they began to drowse, until
one by one the little groups became quiet and fell asleep. Only the
glowing, flickering pine knots stayed awake to watch the tired sleepers.

The first streak of dawn found the fellows up and eager for work;
besides, there was so much to see and learn before the day's work was
begun. The remains of the midnight lunches were drawn out of their hiding
places and eagerly devoured. The fragrant smell of broiling bacon and the
delicious aroma of campfire coffee filled the air. The pine-scented smoke
from the campfire hung low in the valley, and every sound carried plainly
in the morning air. The squirrels were out in great numbers and at their
morning play, while every now and then the harsh, rasping cry of a
bewildered bluejay would float up the canyon.

The stone crew were strung out in skirmish order across the front of the
high ridge and were rolling down every loose stone. Some came with a
merry hop, skip, and jump; others with a shower of gravel and a crash as
they struck the bottom. One gr