exultation in his voice, just as though by right of discovery those
birches really belonged to him.

"Let's call a little rest before we tackle the last round," begged
Bandy-legs, as they arrived alongside the landmark mentioned by Obed;
and without waiting for the others to assent he dropped his pack, and
threw himself down on an especially inviting bit of moss, heaving a
great sigh of relief; for be it known, Bandy-legs was not especially
"mountain out of a mole-hill," as Steve aptly put it, when referring to
the matter.

Soon they were casting eager glances ahead, under the impression that
they must certainly be drawing near the object of their search. Even
Bandy-legs had by now apparently arrived at the belief that Obed was
"straight," and that he really did have some sort of home in this
secluded region. The directions had turned out to be exact, from the
three-mile tramp along the stream and the "seven birches, count 'em"; to
the winding trail that led from that point deeper into the woods.

"Looky there, isn't that some sort of high wire fence?" demanded Steve,
suddenly.

"And, say, I got a plain whiff of sweet hickory wood smoke then, believe
me," added Bandy-legs, in some excitement, and evidently forgetting that
not long before he had been skeptical regarding the existence of any
lodge or fox farm.

"Well, there's the answer right before you," laughed Max; and as they
stared in the direction their leader was pointing, the balance of the
little party saw what seemed to be the "cutest" little cabin fashioned