e. "Mr. Streeter told me that
the Indians say there is no creek between the bays at the head of
Broad River, where we are, and the rivers south of it. Suppose we
work our way to the mouth of this river and then follow the coast
down to Harney's, which is the next river south of us and the
longest one in South Florida."

"All right, and we can explore that big creek running west from the
foot of this bay, which we saw yesterday."

The boys found the creek to be deep with swift water, but so crooked
that a snake would have had to slow up to get through it. After two
miles of paddling, which advanced them about half a mile, they found
themselves in a broad smooth-flowing river, the most beautiful
stream they had ever seen. The big trees on the banks were clothed
with airplants, draped with long, flowing gray moss and garlanded
with flowering and sweet-scented vines. Sometimes an opening in the
forest showed broad savannahs, or prairies, or disclosed groups of
tall palmettos or magnificent royal palms, the grandest tree that
grows. The water was mirror-like, and the great trees, capped by a
mass of white clouds in the blue of the heavens, were repeated below
in a reflection that was perfect. The boys paddled for a long time,
silent as if in a dream, when Ned spoke in a voice so low that his
companion could scarcely hear what he said:

"Does it make you think of Heaven, Dick?"

"Guess it does; only," added Dick, in a louder tone, "it will make
you think of the other place, pretty soon."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a deserted river. Only ghosts stay here. The plantations are
grown over, the houses rotting and little sticks in the ground tell
where the old owners are. The climate is so bad that skull and bone
notices grow on the trees. Then things happen. People eat something
and die, or fall out of their boats and drown, or go out in the
woods and stay till the buzzards find them. Oh, but it's the
peaceful, lovely Rodgers River!"

"Why, where did you hear all that, Dick?"

"From Mr. Streeter. He talked a lot and I didn't forget much that
he said. Then Johnny had heard the talk of convicts, and others who
ought to have been, and told me about them almost in a whisper, for
fear somebody would hear him."

"There's a rotting old shack, now, by that date palm. Are you afraid
of ghosts?"

"No, rather like 'em. I wouldn't mind camping with them for a day or
two, with you for company."

[Illustration: "GROUPS OF TALL