"There are few places in this world where man cannot find food to eat, if he uses his wits," his chum replied. "God has provided food, everywhere, but has left it to man's intelligence to discover and make use of it."
"We have a hook and line, perhaps we could catch a fish," Captain Westfield suggested, hopefully.
"No bait," Charley said, briefly.
He sat plunged in thought while his companions looked around for something with which to bait the hook.
"Here's plenty of bait," Walter called. "Here's a whole colony of frogs—big ones, too."
Charley hurried to his side. His chum was peering under a great root where were sprawled several, big, long-legged frogs.
"What idiots we are," Charley grinned, as he dispatched one with a stick. "These are more than bait. They are the finest kind of food. Why, their legs are worth a dollar a pound in the New York market. Here was plenty of food right to our hand and we did not have sense enough to know it. Why, they were advertizing themselves all night long by their croaking."
The captain and Chris joined in the slaughter and in a short time forty frogs had fallen victims to the sticks.
"We are not likely to starve right away," Charley remarked, as they cut off and removed the skin from the legs. "There are certainly plenty more where these came from."