The landing was effected with no difficulty, although here of course there was no pier. They followed the trail through the woods for a long way, trying to find a place to camp. One spot attracted some; a second attracted others; but for a long time, no place attracted them all. “There are too many stones here,” Rosie would say, “it won’t be comfortable to sit down.” “And it’s too sunny here,” Maida commented. “It’ll melt the ice cream and the butter--and everything.” “That place slants,” Laura made the third objection, “we want a nice flat spot.” “I think I hear water,” Dicky cried suddenly. “Water!” Maida repeated, “Water! How can you hear it? There’s no water here. I never saw any brook around here. I can’t hear any water.” Neither could anybody else; yet Dicky persisted that he heard the sound of running water. “You wait here,” he exclaimed suddenly, “let me see if I can find it.” He disappeared through the trees. He came running back in a few minutes obviously excited. “I haven’t found it yet,” he explained, “but I certainly hear it plainer and plainer the farther I go.” The others swarmed into the bushes. Dicky led the way like a little human divining rod. “I hear water,” Rosie announced electrically. “Hark!” They all stopped and listened. One by one they got the soft tinkle. Encouraged they kept on, rounding bushes and leaping rocks. The noise grew louder and louder. A rough trail suddenly appeared. They raced over it as fast as their burdens would permit. The sound was now a lovely musical splash. They came out on an open space, surrounded by pines and thickly carpeted with pine needles. At one side a great rock thrust out of the earth. Close beside it ran a tiny brook and just beyond the lee of the rock, the brook fell into a waterfall not more than a foot high. The children went wild with delight. “Do you mean to tell me, Maida Westabrook, that you never knew this was here?” Rosie demanded. “I never did,” Maida declared solemnly. “I have never seen it. I have never heard anybody mention it. Isn’t it a darling? What shall we call it? We must give it a name.” Nobody had any names ready and everybody was too excited to think. In fact, at once they began wading up and down the little brook. They explored the neighborhood. Not far off they came upon a curious patch of country. A cleared circle, surrounded by pine trees and carpeted with pines, was filled with irregular lines of great rocks that lost themselves in the bushes on either side. “I believe this is a moraine,” Maida exclaimed suddenly. “I’ve seen moraines in Europe.” “What’s a moraine?” the others asked. Maida explained how once the earth had been covered with great icecaps called glaciers and how in melting these glaciers had often left--streaking the earth’s surface--great files and lines of rock. “We’ll ask father to come here some day,” she ended. “He’ll know all about it. Billy Potter too--he knows everything.”