No alarm disturbed their sleep that night. Wednesday dawned clear as a whistle. Before the sun was fairly up the boys took a plunge in the cool depths of the pool, and the result was such a crop of voracious appetites that Randy predicted another foraging expedition before the day was over.
After breakfast Ned sat down on a stone, and spreading a lengthy paper on his knees, began to study it intently.
"What have you there?" asked Randy.
"A map of the Cumberland Valley," replied Ned. "Do you know, we almost forgot about our mail arrangements? It's a good thing I remembered it this morning. If this stream we are camping on now is Otter Run—and according to the-map it is—then West Hill is only half a dozen miles due east of us.
"That is the first place we were to expect letters, and we won't get any nearer to it than we are now. I think I'll walk over. You may go with me, Clay, if you like. The distance is too much for Nugget, and it's Randy's turn to stay in camp."
No objection was made to this arrangement, and all hurriedly produced paper and pencils and sat down on the grass to write letters home.
"I'm asking for a cake," said Randy. "Where shall I have it sent?"
"Carlisle," answered Ned. "We will be there next week. Tell them to make it a big one."
"And not to forget to put icing on it," added Clay.
"Oh, that goes without telling," said Randy laughingly. "They know what I like."