their path barred at one place by a rather wide brook. The trail
was marked again on the other side. "How are we going to get
across?" asked Gladys.

"Wade through," said Chapa, briefly, sitting down and commencing
to pull off her shoes and stockings.

Gladys put her hand into the water and shook her head. "It's too
cold," she said, drawing back.

"No, it isn't," said Chapa, "the rest went through it. Come on,
you'll be all right." Stuffing her stockings into her shoes, she
threw them to the farther bank, and then stepping into the swift
little stream she waded across calmly. Gladys hesitated for
several minutes before she could make up her mind to put her feet
in the water, but finally, encouraged by Chapa, she stepped
gingerly in. "Be careful of the rocks, they're slippery," warned
Chapa, but the warning was hardly out of her mouth when Gladys
slipped on one of the smooth stones and sat down with a mighty
splash. Chapa flew to the rescue and pulled her out on the bank.

"What will I do?" wailed Gladys, "I can't go on with these wet
bloomers."

"Wear my bathing suit," suggested Chapa, untying it from around
her waist where she had been wearing it as a sort of sash, with
all her impedimenta stuck into the folds. So Gladys changed to
the bathing suit, and Chapa fixed the wet bloomers on a stick
which they could carry between them, so they would be dry by the
time they reached the night's encampment.