jumped to his feet as he called out.

It was night in the woods, with a cheery camp fire blazing close to where
the restless river fretted and scolded along its crooked course.

The boy called Toby, whose last name happened to be Jucklin, also scrambled
to his feet when thus hailed by his campmate, Steve Dowdy.

He was a broad-shouldered chap, unusually husky in build, and apparently as
strong as an ox; but all his life poor Toby had been afflicted with an
unfortunate impediment in his speech that gave him no end of trouble.

When the third boy also stood erect it was plain to see how he came by his
name. His legs were bowed, and appeared too short for his body. "Now open
up and tell us what you saw, Toby," demanded Steve, who was by nature
inclined to be what his chums called "bossy."

"L-l-land's sake, didn't you s-s-see it, fellows?" asked the troubled one,
his voice trembling with the excitement under which he was laboring.

"Stick a pin in him, Steve," advised Bandy-legs; "that's the easiest way to
make him talk straight English, you know."

"Don't you dare try it, now, I tell you," warned the other, forgetting to
even stutter in his indignation. "I'm going to tell you about it just when
I'm good and ready. G-get that, now?"

"Please commence then, Toby," pleaded the shorter boy. "Was it a real ghost
you saw, or a snake? I'm terribly set against the crawlers, you remember."