were merged into one burning desire to
drink, and he turned eagerly in that direction.

At the edge of the woods he found a little fairy, foamy waterfall, which
had tumbled down from the mountain to be lost in the dismal swamp. But
Dol felt that it had accomplished its mission when he unfastened the tin
drinking-mug which hung from his belt, and drank--drank--drank! He
straightened himself again, feeling that some of the bubbling life of
the mountain torrent had passed into him. His eyes lit on a towering
pine-tree just beyond it. And then--

Well! if that sky-piercing pine had suddenly changed at a jump into a
gray post, bearing the inscription, "One mile to Boston," Dol Farrar
could not have been more astonished and relieved than when he saw for
the first time a rude forest guide-post.

To the dark, knotted trunk was fastened a piece of light, delicate bark,
stripped from a white-birch tree. On this was scrawled in big letters,
by some instrument evidently not intended for penmanship:--

"FOLLOW THE BLAZED TRAIL AND YOU ARE SAFE."

"Another blazed trail! Hurrah!" shouted Dol. "Won't I follow it? I never
will follow any other again if I live to be a hundred, and come to these
woods every year till I die!"

The height of his relief could only be measured by the depth of his past
misery, which would truly have been enough to set a weaker boy crazy.
With watering eyes and panting breaths that came near to being sobs of
gladness, he started upon the new trail. It led him off into the forest
surrounding the swamp.

The pine that had been chosen for guide-post was the first in the line
of spotted trees. The others followed it closely, with intervals of
eight or ten yards between them; and as the notches in their trunks were
freshly cut, Dol followed the track without any difficulty for twenty
minutes. He had a suspicion that he was nearing the end of it; though he
was still in forest gloom, with light coming in meagre, ever-lessening
streaks through the pine-tufts above. Then he started more violently
than when the deer snorted near his ear.

Suddenly and shrilly the blast of a horn rang through the darkening
woodland aisles, followed, after a pause of a minute or two, by a second
and louder blast.

Then a well-pitched, far-reaching voice sang out:--"Come to supper,
boys! Come to supper!"

"Good gracious!" said Dol, conscious on the instant that he was as
hollow as a drum. "There are enough surprises in these f