The cloth used for the tent was cotton drilling. John’s mother sewed the strips together under his direction, and their landlady allowed him to set it up in the little paved square of yard back of the block, and there he and Harry gave it a coat of paint to make it waterproof. The whole thing did not cost three dollars, and, as the boys said, “It’ll last us a good many seasons.” Aside from their tent they purchased a small hatchet, a ball of stout twine, a few nails, a lantern, and some tin pails, cups, and plates, and several knives, forks, and spoons. [Illustration: A LOAD OF WOOD ON THE WAY UP TO THE VILLAGE] It had been a question just where their camping-place should be. “We can’t very well pitch our tent in the hotel yard,” said Harry. “That high-priced proprietor wouldn’t allow it, I’m sure; and, besides, we shouldn’t want to.” Another perusal of the summering-place circular disclosed the fact that it gave a list of the attractions of the region about, with certain comments thereon. Among the rest was noted a waterfall seventy feet high. It was amid surroundings, so the circular said, exceedingly beautiful and romantic (whatever that may be). The boys thought that style of place would suit them to a T, and Harry, who carried the circular about in his pocket, got it out at the bank the next day after this decision was arrived at and underscored this waterfall with red ink. In the late afternoon of August 14th the two were set down, “bag and baggage,” at the forlorn little station which was the railroad terminus of their journey. To the left was a high sand bluff, half cut away, crowned with a group of tall pines. A little up the tracks was a deep, stony ravine where a little river sent up a low murmur from the depths. This was spanned by a high railroad trestle, and when the train rumbled away across it and disappeared around the curve of a wooded slope, the boys watched the curls of smoke fade into thin air and felt a bit homesick. Beyond was a small freight-house, but no other buildings were in sight. It was a little clearing in the midst of the woods. The only path leading away was the road, which made a turn about the near sand bluff, and then was lost to sight. At the rear of the depot was a smart stage-coach, into which a group of people were being helped by a slick footman. This coach was an attachment of the Groveland House. “Were the young gentlemen bound for the hotel?” “No,” said Clayton, “we’re not going to the hotel. Isn’t there any other coach?” “Oh, yes, but that leaves here at two o’clock. It has a long route through the different villages, over the hills, delivering the mail and other truck. If it waited for the four-thirty train it would hardly get around before midnight.” “We’re much obliged,” said Clayton, and the two went back to the front platform and sat down on their baggage. “We won’t go up to that hotel if we have to pitch our tent here on the sand back of the depot,” said John.