"Don't you believe it," snapped Steve, philosophically. "The difference was in the surroundings, and the kind of _appetite_ you had. No matter if a fellow does think he's hungry at home, when he sits down to a white tablecloth, and silver, and cut-glass, and all that sort of stuff it sort of dulls the edge of his appetite. Then again he has to just wait his turn to be served, and mustn't forget his table manners if he knows what's good for him. But say, up in the woods he can just revert back to the habits of primeval man from whose loins he sprang, and his appetite compares to that of the wolf. Oh! things do taste altogether different, somehow or other; and meals seem an _awful_ long time apart." "What's on your mind, Toby?" asked Jack, a short time afterwards, when he noticed the other looking pensive, as though his thoughts might be busy. "Oh! I was only wondering whether we'd hear that queer old booming sound again tonight, that's all, Jack; and mebbe, too, I was trying to figure out just how _he_ manages to make it." Jack smiled. "Everything comes to him who waits, Toby," he said, simply; "and so don't worry yourself about things yet awhile. Let me shoulder the burden; if it gets too heavy a load for one fellow to carry be sure I'll call on you two for help." Then he deftly guided the conversation into other channels. There was plenty to talk about, for these were observing lads, who kept their eyes open no matter where they might be; and every little while Toby would remember something he had noticed as he made his way to or from the river, that he must describe in order to arouse Jack's interest, and cause him to decide on a trip across country soon. They sat up fairly late, for there was a peculiar fascination about the crackling campfire that held them spellbound. They clasped their hands about their knees, and stared into the glowing heart of the fire, as though capable of seeing all manner of fantastic figures dancing there like madcap sprites. It was the old, old story that never dies out, the spirit of devotion that mankind pays to the element which he had compelled to serve him so well in a thousand different ways, but principally to cook his food, and warm his chilled body. Finally Toby admitted that his eyes were closing in spite of himself, and Steve on hearing that frank confession commenced to yawn at a terrific rate; so Jack said for one he meant to creep between his blankets and get some sleep. All seemed well as they retired within the tent where, by the light of the lantern, they could finish their disrobing, and don their warm flannel winter pajamas, which, at Jack's suggestion, they had fetched along with them, because he knew how chilly the nights become in camp even during the "good old summer-time." After all Toby had his fears for nothing, because he was not aroused by any mysterious explosion. If anything of the sort happened he certainly failed to hear it, and slept through the night.