It was Sunday morning in Camp Golden. The name had been bestowed by Paul, always fond of the high-sounding or romantic. And although David, with customary pessimism, proposed that the broad, shelving ledge be called "Camp Golden--It's-Barely-Possible" instead, Jones' suggestion was accepted; partly because no one cared, in particular; partly because his name possessed euphony, if not positive significance. Anyway, Sunday morning it was and breakfast of coffee, corn cakes and bacon, with strawberries after, rather than before the principal part of the meal, was just over. The Auto Boys, in various attitudes of ease, made no immediate haste to clear away the dishes. Paul Jones sat on a cushion on the ground, with legs crossed like a tailor on his bench. Billy made himself comfortable, on a convenient box, both hands clasped around an up-turned knee--a favorite attitude of his,--while Phil and Dave in equally unconventional positions occupied camp stools. Their places were at opposite sides of an old-time trunk which, turned half over, served as a table. Newspapers--quickly disposed of in the fire when soiled,--no need to _wash them_--did duty as a tablecloth. It was a cheerful, pleasant scene, there amid the shade and sunshine and green leaves. A low tent was erected with its back to the rocky cliff at the rear of the ledge. Here were accommodated two beds of hemlock twigs spread upon the ground and covered with blankets, also a box which, in addition to holding wearing apparel and the like, served as a kind of center table. Its lid was pretty well littered with an assortment of young gentlemen's belongings this morning--an odd mixture of neckties, collars, socks, clothes-brush, shoe brush, a revolver, fishing tackle, a hatchet and a bottle of olives. Larger items of wearing apparel hung on a line along the tent's rear wall. In the shallow cave shelves formed by building up broad, flat stones like a series of steps, accommodated sundry tinware, dishes and canned provisions. A perfect cooling system, made by diverting a part of the water from the spring to a small excavation in the gravelly floor of the cave, afforded proper storage for a crock of butter and a pitcher of milk set down in the little pool. Here, also, a bucket of other provisions of a perishable nature was similarly disposed. Not even the famous spring-houses of early days could have been more serviceable or delightful. The campfire was placed not quite in front of the tent, as the custom is if prevailing winds do not blow the smoke in, but quite to one side. It was the width of the ledge, rather than the winds, however, which in this instance made desirable the location chosen. It would not do for Chef Billy to have to work at the extreme edge of the declivity that broke sharply down to the valley below--the "jumping off place," Jones called it.