UP THE CREEK.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
They knew, but the very excitement of it kept them silent, and Quill again gave up the oars to the stranger. He made short work of that stretch of smooth, sunny water, and the Ark's original crew were proud of her. It seemed but a few minutes before she ran almost up on shore in a little cove of the thickly wooded islet.
"Magnificent! Ours by right of discovery. Boys, we must have a fire. You go for loose sticks and things, while I kindle one."
What could they do but shout their loudest, and dart away after supplies of fire-wood?
"He's got some matches," said Quill. "He's lighting a piece of paper. He's kindling some brush."
He was certainly a very remarkable man for two boy-boatmen to meet on a cruise like the one in question, for, even while the bright blaze leaped out through the first black smudge of smoke, he burst into another foreign song.
The stranger was standing by his fire, fanning it with his wide-brimmed straw hat, and his closely trimmed curly head was bare. They could guess that he was not more than twenty, and he was a very handsome young fellow, if his clothes had not been so fine.
"This is great," he muttered to himself. "First piece of genuine out-and-out fun I've had since I got here. Hullo, what's this?"
There had been an unnoticed rustle among the trees and bushes to the right of him.