“Yes, it looks hollow,” returned Harry. “Let me give you a boost up.” “Don’t you shoot me for a squirrel while I’m up there,” laughed Boxy, and up he started. “Humph! you don’t climb like a squirrel,” commented Andy, as Boxy gripped and twisted to gain the lower branches of the tree. It was a struggle to gain those lower limbs, but Boxy finally accomplished it, and began to poke into the hole with a stick. Almost instantly a couple of squirrels sprang out and darted past him, and out to where the branches of another tree hung close. One of the frisky animals made the leap in safety, and darted out of sight before those below could take aim at him. The second was not so fortunate. He hesitated for an instant, and that proved fatal. Harry’s gun spoke, and down he dropped at the young hunter’s feet. The shot, scattering through the branches behind him, frightened Boxy, who imagined that he was in danger of being hit, although such was not the case, as Harry was careful of what he was doing. The boy up at the squirrel hole shrunk backward, and then, to the amazement of his companions, disappeared entirely! “Hullo! what does that mean?” cried Jack. “Where in de world is dat feller gwine?” questioned Pickles, with his mouth wide open. “Who?” asked Harry, who had been paying attention solely to the squirrel. “Boxy has gone into a hole in the tree,” explained Andy. “Hullo, Boxy, crawl out of that!” he shouted. There was no reply. The boys stared at the tree and each other in wonder. “Maybe he has gone clear to the bottom,” suggested Jack. “I’ll climb up and see,” returned Harry. “Give me a leg up, quick! He may be smothering!” Jack assisted him, and Harry was soon up to where Boxy had been standing. Sure enough, there was a large hole, and Boxy was wedged into it at least seven or eight feet below the opening. “Help me!” gasped the unfortunate boy, in a thick voice. “Throw up a rope or a strap,” shouted Harry, to those below. “He is way down, and can’t help himself.” Several skate-straps, buckled together, were at once thrown up. Winding one end around his hand, Harry lowered the other. “Got it tight?” he asked. “Yes,” returned Boxy. “But I’m afraid you can’t haul me up--I’m wedged in that firm!” “I’ll see.” Bracing himself as best he could, Harry hauled away on the strap. The leather cut his hand a good deal, but to this he paid small attention. At first Boxy did not budge. Then, with a groan, he came up a few inches. A tearing sound, as of clothing, followed, and finally he was raised so that he could get his hands on the edge of the hole. Then he helped himself; and soon both he and Harry were down among the others again. Boxy’s coat was torn in half-a-dozen places, but he gave scant attention to that. He was very thankful that he had been pulled out of the tree-trunk alive. “Supposing I’d been alone when that happened?” he shuddered. “I was worse off than Jack in that pit on the other side of the lake.”