"How can you tell?" queried Henrietta.
"See that birch tree growing from the upper side of its root? That birch has had time to grow from a seed into a good-sized tree since some mighty tornado or some unusual freshet uprooted this great pine—pine does not rot as quickly as some of the harder woods."
"I see one reason why it fell," asserted Jean. "There's water bubbling out down there, under the root."
"So there is," said Mr. Black. "I'm glad I brought my cup—that's a spring. We'll have a drink."
So everybody drank some of the clear, cold water before proceeding to Barclay's.
There was no sign of civilization at Barclay's Point; just a long, rocky promontory that ran out into the lake and, in fair weather, furnished a fine place to fish from. Its north coast was particularly rough and jagged. Here, as Mr. Blank had prophesied, the waves, roaring and booming like ceaseless artillery, struck with tremendous force against the rocks and dashed to prodigious heights—a grand and unforgettable sight.
But Mabel's sweater was not unforgettable. She had taken it off because she was too warm after the steep climb to the spot from which the waves presented the finest spectacle (nobody wanted to get too close to all that mountain of water) and anchored the garment firmly to the ground by means of a heavy stone. She returned to camp without missing it—she had something more exciting to think of, for Henrietta had mentioned that one of the contributions from her grandmother was a large box of candy.
"We'll have some," promised Henrietta, "as soon as we get back to camp."
Naturally Mabel, who was inordinately fond of sweet things and who had had no candy for a week, forgot all about her gray sweater, so near the color of the rocks that nobody else noticed it. But, notwithstanding the discomfort she endured without it, she was glad afterwards that she had forgotten it.