and
turned to Trevelyan and Garibaldi again. He'd take that other side of
himself out in books, he guessed.

He had now arrived at the crucial moment of the battle, and lifted his
head and his heart in anticipation of the way Garibaldi met that moment.
He read, "To experienced eyes the battle seemed lost. Bixio said to
Garibaldi, 'General, I fear we ought to retreat.' Garibaldi looked up as
though a serpent had stung him. '_Here we make Italy or die!_' he said."

"That's the talk!" cried Neale, to himself. The brave words resounded in
the air about him, and drowned out the voices from the next room.

CHAPTER XIII

ALONG THE EAGLE ROCK BROOK

July 1.

Paul was very much pleased that Mr. Welles agreed with him so perfectly
about the hour and place for lunch. But then Mr. Welles was awfully nice
about agreeing. He said, now, "Yes, I believe this would be the best
place. Here by the pool, on that big rock, as you say. We'll be drier
there. Yesterday's rain has made everything in the woods pretty wet.
That's a good idea of yours, to build our fire on the rock, with water
all around. The fire couldn't possibly spread." Paul looked proudly at
the rain-soaked trees and wet soggy leaves which his forethought had
saved from destruction and strode across the brook in his rubber boots,
with the first installment of dry pine branches.

"Aren't you tired?" he said protectingly to his companion. "Whyn't you
sit down over there and undo the lunch-basket? I'll make camp. Father
showed me how to make a campfire with only one match."

"All right," said Mr. Welles. "I do feel a little leg-weary. I'm not so
used to these mountain scrambles as you are."

"I'll clean the fish, too," said Paul; "maybe you don't like to. Elly
can't abide it." He did not say that he did not like it very well
himself, having always to get over the sick feeling it gave him.

"I never did it in my life," confessed Mr. Welles. "You see I always
lived in towns till now."

Paul felt very sorry for Mr. Welles, and shook his head pityingly as he
went off for more firewood.

When he had collected a lot, he began to lay the sticks. He did it just
as Father had showed him, but it seemed lots harder to get them right.
And it took a lot more than one match to get it started. He didn't have
a bit of breath left in him, by the time he finally got it going. And
my, weren't his hands black! But he felt very much set up, all the same,
that he had done it.