The hushed and breathless trees seemed to be listening. The melody of the song floated far over the shrouded bosom of the lake, beyond which the light of the hotel gleamed at the foot of the cliff, on the highest crest of which a great white cross had been planted. The waving firelight flooded over the boys, seated or half reclining upon the ground, with the tent standing out snowy white against the black background of the forest. There was no moon, and overhead a few vapory stars peered through the haze which had spread across the sky. At times the fire, rising, flung a gilded gleam out upon the placid water off Pleasant Point. The glamor and poetry of the time and place was distinctly felt by all those boys. It was a splendid thing to be alive and to be there, a little band of congenial friends and comrades granted the ever-to-be-remembered delights of this midsummer outing in the best days of enthusiastic, unsatiated, golden youth. In years to come, when the hard, cutting edges of life’s experiences and cares had rasped away their fervor and left them, perhaps, incapable of deep enjoyment of simple things, they would sometimes recall this outing with the mingled thrills of regret and pleasure which memory so often yields. They sang other old-fashioned songs: “Swanee River,” “Aunt Dinah’s Quilting Party,” “Bring Back My Bonny to Me;” and then, alone, strumming the accompaniment on the guitar, Grant rendered that doleful pastoral of the plains, “The Cowboy’s Lament.” The mood for singing passed, and they were silent, even the Texan, having put aside his instrument, leaned his elbows on his knees and propped his chin with his hands to stare moodily into the sinking fire. As the unreplenished flames died down, the shadows crept nearer and the tent seemed to beckon to the embrace of its shelter. Finally Piper shook himself, sat up, stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Me to the sleeping bag,” he said. “I’m going to turn in.” CHAPTER IV. A BAD NIGHT FOR PIPER. “Why, Sleuthy,” drawled Crane, in pretended surprise, “I thought yeou was goin’ to stand guard all night to keep off bloodthirsty redskins and ‘gougers,’ or other wild animals. Is it possible yeou’re goin’ to let us snooze unprotected—is it possible?” “Huh!” grunted Piper. “I guess there’s no danger, and I’m mighty tired. There won’t anything touch us.” “Then,” laughed Grant, rousing from his reverie and picking up the guitar, “you no longer fear that tomorrow may see our scalps dangling in the wigwams of the Wampanoags?” “The progress of civilization,” returned Sleuth, “the irresistible advance of the ruthless palefaces, has driven the red men steadily toward the setting sun, and I have a conviction that not many Wampanoags remain in this region.”