rks of wheels upon it, or tracks of any sort, made by travelling.
It was only a space for a road, made by cutting away the trees and
bushes.

Along this opening, Forester and Marco slowly advanced, eating the
raspberries which grew by the side of the way. After going on for a few
rods in this manner, Marco suddenly exclaimed,

"Why, here is another camp!"

Forester looked up and saw, just before them, the remains of a sort of
hut, somewhat similar to those which they had seen the evening before.
There was a large heap of chips and shavings about it.

"What can this be?" asked Marco.

"I presume," said Forester, "that it is an old shingle weaver's
establishment."

"What is a shingle weaver?" asked Marco.

"A man who makes shingles," replied Forester, "such as they use for
covering houses. They make them of clear straight-grained pine, which
will split easily and true."

So saying, Forester advanced towards the hut, and took up one of the
pieces of pine, which had been split out for a shingle. There were
several of such pieces lying about among the chips and shavings. It was
somewhat browned by exposure to the weather, but it had a very smooth
and glossy appearance, shining with a sort of silken lustre.

"This is a beautiful piece of pine," said Forester.

"Let us carry some of it home," rejoined Marco.

"What good would it do us?" asked Forester.

"Why, we might make something of it," said Marco. "Perhaps I could make
a little box."

"And that would serve as a _souvenir_ of this expedition," added
Forester.

"A souvenir?" said Marco,--"what is that?"

"Why, something to remember it by," replied Forester. "Hereafter,
whenever you should see the box, you would be reminded of our wanderings
and perils in this wilderness."

"Well," said Marco, "let us take it."

The farther conversation of our adventurers was interrupted by a sound,
like that of wagon wheels, coming along the main road, which they had
just left.

"There comes some traveller," exclaimed Forester. "Let us go and enquire
about our way."

"Hark!" said Marco.

At this instant, the sound of the wheels suddenly stopped, and Marco and
Forester heard the voice of a man calling out earnestly to his horse,
"Whoa! whoa!" as if something had happened. Marco and Forester hastened
to the spot, where they found that the horse had fallen down, and the
man was trying in vain to get him up. The harness was drawn so tight
about the horse's limbs, by