Now at home chocolate, although occasionally enjoyable, is liable to seem rather flat, insipid and tame; but for breakfast in camp, made with milk, either fresh or condensed, and served piping hot, there is nothing better or more satisfying. And so, when the fish was properly boiled, the potatoes fried and the chocolate ready, their appetites being by that time keen and demanding, they sat down to a meal which seemed to all, with the exception of Crane, the best they had yet tasted. Even in spite of his still burning wounds, Sile ate with apparent relish. Once they all ducked as a passing hornet whizzed overhead with a humming sound like that of a tiny gas motor turning up at full speed. Crane was the only one who did not laugh; he growled. Breakfast over and everything cleared away, they resumed consideration of their new and unwelcome neighbors, a few of which, apparently on guard, hovered around the nest. “With a long pole we might smash the sus-stuffing out of that nest,” declared Springer. “And probably get ourselves well stung while we were about it,” said Stone. “A smudge is the thing to cook them. A good, heavy smudge, started as close as possible to the nest opening, would smother them as they came out.” “How close is as close as possible?” questioned Crane. “Right up against the nest if we can put it there; not over six or eight inches away, at most.” “Well,” drawled Sile, with a returning touch of whimsicality, “I’d sartainly like to see some of yeou fellers make that smudge and start it goin’.” “Misery loves company,” laughed Rod. “I don’t judge there’s enough wealth in this outfit to tempt me to try that.” “Perhaps we can work it without getting near enough to be stung,” said Ben. “How? how?” they cried. “If we can find a pole long enough to enable me to reach the nest and remain hidden behind the end of the tent, I’ll show you.” Some time was spent in securing the pole, but eventually, some rods from the camp, a tall, straight, slender sapling was selected, cut and trimmed. Then Stone searched about for the material to make his smudge, stripping the bark, both wet and dry, from cedar tree trunks. He also secured a huge dry toadstool as large as his two fists. With these things the boys returned to the smoldering campfire, where, placing the toadstool in the center, Ben wound and twisted and tied the strips of cedar bark about it, with plenty of the dry bark on the outside and numerous strips running through the elongated ball. The end of the pole, whittled sharp, was then carefully thrust into this ball, after which Ben set it afire and fanned it until it was sending forth a surprisingly heavy, rank cloud of smoke. “Now,” he said, “to see what can be done with our friends, the enemy.”