No one seemed a particle sleepy. Indeed, they had never been more wide awake in their lives. Even Davy Jones, filled with the spirit of mischief that seemed to take possession of him every once in so often, climbed the tree under which they had built their camp-fire, and swung himself from limb to limb; now with his hands but just as frequently by his toes; as though he wanted to prove the truth of what that learned professor by the name of Darwin always declared, that we were descended from a race of monkeys.
The rest were lying around in the most comfortable attitudes they could find.
"Oh! say, come down out of that, Davy; you make me tired with your everlasting pranks. Take a drop, won't you, please?" called out Bumpus.
Hardly had he spoken than there was a whoop, and Davy landed squarely in the middle of the now smouldering fire, sending the brands to the right and to the left in a hurricane of sparks.
The seven scouts threw themselves backward to avoid contact with the scattered red embers, while Davy scrambled out of his fiery bed with furious alacrity.
CHAPTER XV.
THE FLICKERING TORCH TALK.
"Put me out! somebody give me a rub down the back! I'm on fire!"