One of the favorite holiday resorts of Bessie and Rudolph was a lovely
spot in the forest, not a quarter of a mile from the house. Shaded by
giant oaks, whose gnarled roots lay like serpents, half hidden in the
moss, ran a streamlet, covered with sunny speckles, where parted leaves
admitted the sunshine. Flowers grew along its banks in wild profusion,
and it held its wayward course with many a rippling fall and fantastic
turn, until it was lost in the shades of the forest.

"Where does it go to, I wonder?" the children often would say to each
other, longing for permission to follow its windings farther than the
limits prescribed by their parents would allow.

"To the ocean, of course," Rudolph would answer, triumphantly; while
Bessie, looking at its golden ripple, and listening to its musical song,
half believed that it carried its wealth of sparkling jewels to
Fairyland itself.

Sometimes, when Bouncer was with them, they lingered so long by the
mysterious streamlet, sending chip boats adrift upon its surface, or
trying to adjust troublesome little water-wheels under some of its tiny
cascades, that Mrs. Hedden would blow the big horn as a signal for their
return; and as they ran home, playing with Bouncer by the way, or
scolding him for shaking his wet sides under their very faces, they
would inwardly resolve to coax father to take them up the stream on the
very first pleasant Saturday.

Accordingly, on one bright Friday in June, as Bessie and Rudolph were
returning from school together, they ran toward their father, who was
working in the clearing.