Sid was looking, and there was a very strong suggestion of dinner in that pair of barely full-grown young birds. Fat, plump, the very thing for a boy whose breakfast had been eaten early. There was a sort of natural "open" on that side of the little lake, and Wade led the way straight to it.
"Just as I expected. The old shanty's knocked all to pieces. The boards and the nails are there, though. They may be good for something."
"What next? Shall I unpack?"
"Hold up, Sid. Yes, there's the spring. Down yonder; that's where we'll pitch our tent."
"Needn't do that, yet awhile."
"First thing always. We're not in camp till the tent's up."
"Go ahead. Don't you wish you had the tent poles here now?"
"Not if I had 'em to carry besides the other things. We can cut all we want."
As they talked they walked, and they were now standing by the spring, on the slope, not more than a hundred yards from the shore.
"There's the place for the tent."