"Keep up a good fire and a good heart," called Ran.
"All right, I will," and little Ashby had his turn of loneliness. It must be confessed that he did feel a sinking of heart as he saw the two disappear into the darkness of the forest.
Darker, more lonesome, more awful did that forest seem to the two children who, wearied at last from unsuccessful attempts to find their way back, sat down upon a log to rest. "It's no use trying any more," said Phil. "We're tuckered out and we can't see a yard ahead of us anyhow. It wasn't right for me to bring you way off here, Mary Lee, and I wish I hadn't done it."
"It wasn't your fault any more than mine," said she. "We both started to follow the squirrel."
"Yes, but I said I wanted to try to catch a young one, and so you went to accommodate me. If I hadn't said that you wouldn't have gone."
"We might have gone after something else just the same," said the girl. "It is awfully dark, isn't it, Phil?"
"Father always carries a compass." Phil was busy with his own thoughts. "I wish we knew the direction we came, then I could find the North star and go by that."
"But we can scarcely see the stars in here."
"Anyhow I ought to have noticed the direction. Father says that is what one ought always to do when he is in a strange place, especially in the woods."
"It's getting very cold," said Mary Lee, plaintively. "Do you suppose we could kindle a fire by rubbing two sticks together as the Indians do?"