trip—there are plenty of them lying around loose on the point, unless Matt Coyle has carried them off to patch up his shanty—and make our noses do duty as clocks."
Tom did not understand this, either; but believing that he had made a sufficient airing of his ignorance of woodcraft for one day, at least, he asked no more questions.
Half an hour's steady paddling brought the boys to the point, on which they landed to prepare their meager breakfast. That it was a favorite resort for parties like their own was evident. Beds of ashes surrounding the mossy bowlder from beneath which the spring bubbled up, marked the places where roaring campfires had once been built, and the empty fruit and meat cans that had been tossed into the bushes told what good dinners had been eaten there.
Joe Wayring at once set off to hunt up a couple of suitable boards, another started a fire, two more fell to work upon the fish and squirrels, and the rest found employment in gathering a supply of fuel, and providing birch-bark plates and platters. Although Tom and
