As he spoke, Herb began to replenish the fire, and make things snug in the camp for the night.
But shortly after, when he threw himself on the spuce-boughs near them, the boys heard him murmur, deep in his throat, as if he took strength from the words:—
“It takes lots of laffin’ to keep things even!”
Chapter XXV.
A Little Caribou Quarrel
But things on this old planet seemed even enough the next day, when, after a dozen hours of much needed sleep, the campers’ eyes opened upon a scene which might have stirred any sluggish blood—and they were not sluggards.
A fresh breath of frost was in the air to quicken circulation and hunger. Under a smiling sun an October breeze frolicked through leaves with tints of fire and gold, humming, while it swiftly skimmed over their beauties, as if it was reading a wind’s poem of autumn.
Katahdin looked as though it had suddenly taken on the white crown of age, with age’s stately calm. The weather had grown colder during the night. Summer—the balmy Indian summer, with its late spells of sultriness—had taken a weeping departure yesterday. To-day there was no threatening of rain-storm or slide. The mountain’s principal peaks had fleecy wraps of snow.
“Ha! Old Katahdin has put on its nightcap,” exclaimed Cyrus, when the trio issued from their tent in the morning. “Listen, you fellows! This is the 21st of October. I propose that we start back to our home-camp to-morrow. It will take us two days to reach Millinokett Lake. Then we’ll set our faces towards civilization the first week in November, or thereabouts.”
“Oh, bother it! So soon!” protested Dol.