“All right,” laughed Grant. “Pass it over.”
George handed his shirt to Grant and soon the seams were ripped so that it covered the largest amount of possible space. “Now for a flag-pole,” exclaimed Grant.
“I’ll attend to that,” exclaimed Fred and he straightway fell upon a nearby tree with his jackknife. He cut off one of the longest and straightest branches after considerable trouble, and presented it for his companions’ approval. “How’s that?” he demanded proudly. “It’s about thirty feet long and stuck up on top of that hill, it could be seen for a long, long distance.”
“We’ll now go up and raise the flag,” cried Grant, and leading the way he set out for the top of the hill.
“Look at the brook,” exclaimed John suddenly, after they had covered about half the distance to their destination.
“It’s not a very big one,” remarked George as he stepped across the tiny stream. “I wonder where it comes from.”
“We can follow it and see,” said Grant. “If the water is good to drink, we are in luck, for we may need it desperately before long.”
“It looks clear enough,” said Fred. “I’ll taste of it.”
“Wait till we find the source,” advised Grant. “We can tell better then whether it is good or not.”
They soon discovered the origin of the little stream. Set in among a grove of scrub palmetto trees was a spring. The water bubbled merrily out into a little pool, the bottom of which was covered with shining white pebbles.