Along this opening, Forester and Marco slowly advanced, eating the raspberries which grew by the side of the way. After going on for a few rods in this manner, Marco suddenly exclaimed,
"Why, here is another camp!"
Forester looked up and saw, just before them, the remains of a sort of hut, somewhat similar to those which they had seen the evening before. There was a large heap of chips and shavings about it.
"What can this be?" asked Marco.
"I presume," said Forester, "that it is an old shingle weaver's establishment."
"What is a shingle weaver?" asked Marco.
"A man who makes shingles," replied Forester, "such as they use for covering houses. They make them of clear straight-grained pine, which will split easily and true."
So saying, Forester advanced towards the hut, and took up one of the pieces of pine, which had been split out for a shingle. There were several of such pieces lying about among the chips and shavings. It was somewhat browned by exposure to the weather, but it had a very smooth and glossy appearance, shining with a sort of silken lustre.
"This is a beautiful piece of pine," said Forester.
"Let us carry some of it home," rejoined Marco.