to him the climax of all fun. It was chiefly with a hope that his
comrades might enjoy some novel entertainment of this kind that Cyrus
made his first stoppage at Uncle Eb's camp, purposing to sojourn there
for a few days.

He was not disappointed.

The stupidly tired trio had slept for about two hours, while the reader
has been receiving information second-hand about their past and future,
when a scratching, scraping, boring noise on the outside of their bark
roof temporarily disturbed their slumbers. Dol called out noisily, and,
as was the way of that youngster on sundry occasions, talked some
gibberish in his sleep. The scraping instantly ceased.

A renewed and blissful season of snoring. Another awakening. More music
on the roof, evidently caused by the claws of some wild animal, while
each of the campers was startled by a loud "Cluck!"

"Lie still, fellows! Don't budge. Let's see what the thing is," breathed
Cyrus in a peculiarly still whisper which he had learned from his
moose-hunting guide of whom mention has been made.

Dead silence in the hut. Redoubled scraping and rattling above, with a
scattering of bark chips.

Then light appeared through a jagged hole just over a string which was
stretched across one corner of the cabin, and from which dangled sundry
articles of camp bric-a-brac, mostly of a tinny nature, with Uncle Eb's
last morsel of "pork.