“Big Red” Resmere in the lead, with “Squinty” Quinn and “Spotty,” the freckled-face, close behind, while the rear was brought up with a rabble of less noted characters, who more than made up for their own lack of courage by their terror-inspiring yells. It was too formidable a crowd for the three cave-diggers to parley with, so they ingloriously fled up the bank, leaving the product of their hard work in the hands of the despoilers. The River Rats used the cave as headquarters, and for a long time afterward would suddenly sally forth from the concealment of the hole and surprise and beat any strange lad who was incautious enough to venture in the neighborhood unprotected by a company of friends. This adventure taught us several things, and one night, at the “dark of the moon,” we met in a smoke-house and formed ourselves into a secret society. Over a bottle of strained honey we made solemn vows, and the secrets of the society have never been divulged until now. The name, the purpose, and the fact of there being any society were the three great secrets. The name was “The Three Ancient Mariners.” The object was to stand by each other to the crack of doom, and the seal, 3·A·M, was tattooed on each member’s good right arm. The vows were religiously kept, and many a bruised face and discolored eye proved our loyalty to each other, for the River Rats made constant war upon us, and our peaceful plans for fun were often rudely upset by the sudden appearance of a bright red head, followed by a freckled face and a gang of retainers. This persecution caused the production of A Tree-top Retreat, which, I believe, has never yet been discovered by the enemy, nor any one else.[2] To reach our secret camp and club-house we had to trudge along the dusty turnpike in the hot sun, with no shade but that afforded by our wide-brimmed straw hats. After passing an old-fashioned inn, with its swinging sign decorated with a picture of the battle of Buena Vista, we cut cross-lots over the forts and rifle-pits on the hill-side, built by the Union soldiers at the time of the Morgan raid. At the end of the lowest rifle-pit we slid down the cut to the railroad track, and followed it to the fence, with a hollow gate-post, where the bluebirds always built their nests. Here we left the railway and entered a cool belt of woods in which the dainty maidenhair-ferns grew on the damp rotten logs and the gray squirrels scolded us from the branches overhead. Following a private trail, we reached an immense beech-tree which had grown around a shaggy-barked hickory in such a manner that only the roots and branches of the hickory could be seen, the whole trunk being embedded and concealed by the smooth bark of the beech, giving it the novel appearance of a tree bearing two entirely different kinds of nuts.