low green bank and
rest for an hour. They built a fire and cooked their dinner and
then stretched themselves in the shade of a large oak tree for a
nap. As far as the eye could see on every side there was no
trace of a human being; no house, no boat, no cultivated land.
It was as though they had stepped back a hundred years and were
in the midst of the primeval forest of song and story. Migwan
lay on her back in lazy contentment, watching the sunshine filter
through the leaves. Idly she drew out her pencil and began
scribbling words in her notebook:

"Underneath this spreading tree,
Let us rest luxuriously;
And caressed by breezes mild,
And with song of birds beguiled,
Interweave our bright day dream
With a tale of wondrous theme."

"Up, up, comrades," cried Nyoda, rising and returning to her
canoe. All through the lovely golden afternoon they paddled
steadily upstream, and just about sunset landed on a low green
meadow that ran down to the water's edge. Behind the tiny plain
the woods grew high and dark. Sahwah, watching the other girls
picking out their sleeping sites for the night, had an inspiration.

"May I sleep out in the _Keewaydin_ to-night?" she asked Nyoda.

"Why, yes," said Nyoda, "if you will tie it securely to a tree.
The current is pretty strong." They lingered long around the
camp fire that night, telling stories and watching the moon rise
over the treetops. None of them had ever experienced that
feeling of being so absolutely by themselves. Quiet and
unmolested as Camp Winnebago was, it seemed the center of
civilization compared to this. Migwan, who was in a poetical
mood, made up a new Camp Fire song and taught it to the girls:

"Lofty pine tree, old and grim,
With the horned moon hooked round the topmost limb,
And the owl awatch on the branch below,
What is the song of the winds that blow
Through your boughs so mysteriously?

They sing a song of the wide green world,
Of the leaves in the merry breezes whirled,
And rustle and murmur and moan and sigh
Of the storm that darkened the sunny sky,
And the ship that was lost at sea.

Lofty pine tree, lone and grim,
With the moon peering over the topmost limb,
And the owl asleep on the branch below,
What is the song of the winds that blow
Through your twigs so caressingly?"

Before rolling into their beds they all went for a moonlight swim
in the rive