e side of the fire was a young fellow of about
his own age, panting audibly, and smiling at him with an exceedingly
companionable smile. In the light of the fire, Tom could see that his
curly hair was so red that a brick would have seemed blue by comparison,
and the freckles were as thick upon his pleasant face as stars in the
quiet sky. Moreover, his eyes sparkled with a kind of dancing
recklessness, and there was a winning familiarity about him that took
even stolid Tom quite by storm.

The stranger wore a plaid cap and a mackinaw jacket, the fuzzy texture
of which was liberally besprinkled with burrs, which he was plucking off
one by one, and throwing into the fire in great good humor.

"I'm a human bramble bush," he said; "a few more of them and I'd be a
nutmeg grater. I'm not conceited but I'm stuck up."

"I didn't see you until just this minute," Tom said; "or hear you
either. I guess you didn't come by the road. I guess you must have come
by the woods trail to get all those burrs on you."

For just a moment the stranger seemed a trifle taken aback, but he
quickly regained his composure and said, "I came in through the stage
entrance, I guess. I can see you're an A-1 scout, good at observing and
deducing and all that. I bet you can't guess who I am."

"I bet I can," said Tom, soberly accepting the challenge; "you're
William Barnard. And I'm glad you're here, too."

"Right the first time," said the stranger. "And you're Thomas Slade. At
last we have met, as the villain says in the movies. You all alone?
Here, let's get a squint at your mug," he added, sitting on the blanket
and holding Tom's chin up so as to obtain a good view of his face.

Tom's wonted soberness dissolved under this familiar, friendly
treatment, and he said with characteristic blunt frankness, "I'm glad
you came. You're just like I thought you were. I hoped all the time that
you'd come."

"_Get out!_" said Barnard, giving him a bantering push and laughing
merrily. "I bet you never gave me a thought. Well, here I am, as large
as life, larger in fact, and now that I'm here, what are you going to do
with me? What's that; a light?" he added, glancing suddenly down to the
main body of the camp.

"It's just the reflection of this fire in the lake," Tom said; "there
isn't anybody but me in camp now. The season is late starting. I guess
troops will start coming Saturday."

"Yes?" said his companion, rather interested, apparently. "Well, I don't