now. Oh boy! I can hardly wait to get there."

"Then we had better be jogging on. It'll be dark before we know it."

"All right," returned Charley, "but I'm going to get a drink before I go
any farther."

"I want one, too. Guess I'll fill the canteen. Then we won't have to, stop
every time we want a drink."

The two boys scrambled down the slope to the brook. The lumber trail was
near the bottom of the notch and they had only a few yards to go. The
little run was rushing tumultuously down the notch, splashing over rocks,
scurrying over little sandy stretches, ever singing, ever murmuring, in
its downward course. Their packs and blankets made it difficult to stretch
out flat and drink from the stream, so Lew rinsed out the canteen, filled
it, and handed it to his companion. Charley took a good drink and passed
the canteen silently back to his chum.

"If you didn't really know it was the brook," said Lew, "you'd be willing
to swear you could hear somebody talking. You can hear voices just as
plain as can be. And you can almost make out what they say. Many a time
I've caught myself listening hard to try to make out the words, when I
heard a brook talking."

"It's no wonder people get scared and pretty nearly go crazy when they are
lost in the forest," replied Lew. "Without half trying, you can imagine
the forest is full of people or spooks or animals or something, creeping
up behind your back."