was looking out over the stream where the water ran gently between
the rocks. It was as clear as glass, and the fish could be seen
swimming about.

"They catch a great many trout in these mountains, I've heard," said
Jim. "Say we get some poles and try our luck before we go back, eh,
Gerald?"

"Surely," responded the person addressed. "I brought plenty of
fishing tackle in the big chest on the back of the machine. I have
also four poles in sections, each fitted with a fine reel and silk
line. I wouldn't come on a camping trip like this without having a
try at the fish, I assure you."

When the party had rested sufficiently, the climb back to camp was
begun, and even Dorothy was thankful that they had not gone to the
village, realizing the truth of Gerald's words, that they would have
needed a conveyance to get them back to their starting point.

It was late afternoon when they reached the camp, to find that Aunt
Betty and Ephraim had supper on the fire. And a fine supper it was,
too--fine for camp life. When it was spread on the ground before them
a short time later, they devoured it ravenously, which pleased Aunt
Betty immensely, for she loved to see young folks eat.

The meal over and the things cleared away, the young folks and Aunt
Betty gathered before the ladies' tent where a fine view of the
valley could be obtained, and for some little time were silent, as
the wonderful glories of Mother Nature unfolded themselves. Before
they realized it, almost, the day was gone--their first day in
camp--and night was upon them. A gray light, mingling with the faint
afterglow of twilight, showed clearly the outlines of the distant
mountains. The stars blinked down from their heavenly dome and the
air was cool and comfortable, thanks to the altitude. To the silent
watchers it seemed that no skies were ever so deep and clear as those
which overspread Camp Breck.

"It would seem," said Aunt Betty, breaking a long silence, "that in
making the stars, nature was bent on atoning in the firmament for a
lack of beauty and brilliancy on the earth."

"How like the Gates of Wonderland I read about when a wee child are
these hills on such a night," said Dorothy reverently.

"Stop!" warned Molly. "If you don't, Jim will soon be chiding you for
becoming poetic."

"No; this is different, somehow," said the boy. "It has gotten into
my blood. I feel much as Dorothy does--a sensation I've never
experienced before, though I've travel