"I know," said the man. "I've seen it. Be careful with your fires, boys. We don't want any more of this fine timber burned."
"Are you a forest-ranger, too?" asked Charley eagerly.
"No; I'm the forester. I have charge of this forest."
"Why, I thought you were at headquarters with your fire crew," cried Charley, hardly realizing what he was saying.
The man looked at him sharply. "I ought to be and I wish I were," he said. "I don't like this a bit. But I was ordered by the Commissioner to send in an immediate estimate on the amount of timber in this stand. There's a big sale on and they have to know how much there is to sell." He paused and then added: "How in the world did you know I was supposed to be at headquarters with the fire crew?"
"A ranger told us so. We met him over in the other valley. He said he wished he was with you."
"Oh! That would be Morton," said the forester. "I sent him out on patrol because we were short of fire patrols."
"Could you use me as a fire patrol?" said Charley quickly.
The forester looked at him searchingly. "Why do you want to be a fire patrol?" he asked.
"I've got to go to work at something," said Charley, "and I'd love to help care for the forest. You see, I'm almost through high school and I've got to go to work and help Dad the minute I've graduated. He wants me to go into the factory with him. I hate factories. But I love the woods. You'd never be sorry, if you hired me, sir."