The noon halt found them with eleven and a half miles covered out of the twenty. Five o'clock brought Dick & Co. to the outskirts of Fenton, a town of some twenty-five hundred inhabitants. "Whoa!" called Tom, reining up half a mile from the town. "There are woods here, Dick. If we go any closer to Fenton, we'll either have to keep on traveling to the other side of the town, or ask the authorities for permission to camp on the common. Don't you believe we had better stop here?" "These are the woods that Dave and I had just picked out," Prescott replied. "We were going to keep on traveling until we found out who owns the woods. This isn't quite in the wilderness, Tom, and we must begin again to seek permission to make our camp from owners of property." "If these are the woods," grunted Tom, "there can be no use in going farther. You and Dave trot on ahead, and bring us back word." "All right," sang out the young leader, "but don't drive onto the ground, or unpack, until we are back with word about the owner's permission." Three minutes of walking brought them to a farmhouse that looked like the abode of prosperous people. "Well, what is it?" demanded a stout man, with a good-humored face, as he stepped out from a barn. "We wish to know, sir," Dick explained, "if you can tell us who owns the woods about a quarter of a mile back, at the right hand side of the road?" "I think I can," nodded the man. "Will you describe the woods a little more particularly?" As Prescott complied the farmer broke in: "Those are my woods, all right. What do you want of them?" Dick explained the desire of himself and his friends to camp there for the night. "Who are you boys?" asked the farmer, keenly eyeing Dick and Dave. "Gridley High School boys, out on a vacation jaunt." "You won't do any damage to my woods, will you?" "Certainly not, sir," Dick promised. "Then go right ahead and pitch your camp, young man. Enjoy yourselves." "We shall have to gather and use quite a bit of firewood, sir," Prescott continued. "Well, there's considerable dead wood lying about there." "May we pay you a proper price for the use of the firewood, sir?" Prescott went on. "If you try to," laughed the farmer, "I'll chase you out of the woods. Make yourselves at home, boys. Have as good a time as you can." "Thank you, sir." "And---have you had any fresh milk lately?" "Not a lot of it, sir." "Would you like some?" "Why, if we may pay-----" "You may pay me," promptly agreed the farmer, "by bringing the pail back when you pass this way in the morning." With that remark he went into another building, soon coming out with an eight-quart pail filled with milk. "This sort of stuff isn't much good, except when you haven't had any for a long time," laughed the farmer. "Enjoy yourselves. Say, you don't play football with the Gridley High School eleven, do you?" "All of us do," Dick admitted.