d exultant, yet tears glistened in his
eyes as he silently gazed upon the soiled plumage of the bird's
beautiful neck and breast, and felt its last faint gaspings as its
reproachful eyes became glassy in death.

"The beautiful bird! Oh, I _won't_ shoot another bird," he declared,
with quivering lips. "How pretty it is, and how warm! I'll ask Stuart to
stuff it, so that I can keep it forever."

By this time Will's hunger was too much for his archery enthusiasm, and
he began to grumble.

"Say, boys, isn't it about time to get to the Glen, and make our camp?
I'm getting hungry. It's hard work drawing this bow of mine, and my arms
are tired."

"Yes, let's go to the Glen," said their captain, Foster; and half an
hour's silent tramping in the underbrush and up the rising ground--for
they were now pretty tired--brought them to the spot known as the Glen.

The Glen was a lovely place. A sparkling spring, rising at the base of a
giant hemlock at the head of a long deep gully, had in the course of
ages filled in the hollow, till a broad level floor was made, surrounded
by close-growing hemlocks, pines, and spruces, and carpeted with fine
turf and pine needles. The water from the spring, flowing in a shallow
brook through the middle of this floor, lost itself in the dark
recesses of the gully further down. At the very top of the great hemlock
by the spring was a rude eyrie, built by the boys, called the Crow's
Nest, and from its swaying, breezy height they had a magnificent view of
the country for miles around. Here, rocking gently and safely,
seventy-five feet above the spring, they picked out their homes, the
pretty white villages nestling among the forest masses of green, and the
slender streams glistening among the cultivated fields and neat mowings.

Near the spring was a rude hut that Stuart and his mates had built a few
years before. Taking possession of this, they took off their haversacks,
hung their bows and quivers about on projecting limbs, gathered dry
leaves and sticks, and soon had a fire started in a rude stone
fireplace.

"Well, my merry bowmen, how do the twanging bow-string and the hissing
arrow suit the greenwood?" asked Stuart, who came up as they lay
picturesquely about, waiting for a bed of coals.

"Oh, it is splendid. Isn't it, boys?" answered Will, the oldest of the
young archers. "Just see how pretty the bows and quivers look, hanging
among the green branches. How nice this all is! But what name