“You may be sure that I thought of that,” Prescott answered.  “I don’t want to defraud any man.  But birch bark suitable for canoes is getting to be a thing of the past in this country.  Our friend, Hiram Driggs, the boat builder, told me that a birch bark canoe, nowadays, is simply worth all one can get for it.  But, after Mr. Eades had written the check and handed it to me, he said:  ’Now, the trade is made and closed, Prescott, what do you really consider the canoe worth?’ I answered him a good deal as I’ve answered you, and offered to return the check if Mr. Eades wasn’t satisfied.  Fellows, for just a moment or two my heart was in my mouth for fear he’d take me up and ask for the return of his check.  But Mr. Eades merely smiled, and said he was satisfied if I was.”

“I’ll bet he’d have gone to a two hundred dollar price,” declared Hazelton.  “Dick, weren’t you sorry, afterwards, that you didn’t hold out flat for two hundred dollars?”

“Not I,” young Prescott answered promptly.  “If I had been too greedy I’d have deserved to lose altogether, and very likely I would have lost.  Fellows, I think we can be well satisfied with the price we’ve obtained.”

“I am!” declared Dave Darrin promptly.  “We’ve realized a hundred dollars above my wildest dream.”

Incidentally it may be mentioned that Mr. Eades found, from his friends, that he had a prize, indeed, in the fine old war canoe.  The grounds committee of another country club offered two hundred and fifty for that same canoe a month later.

“Now, fellows,” Dick went on, “suppose we leave here and decide how we’re to lay out this money for our summer camp?”

The vote was carried instantly.  With a whoop of glee the chums started for Dave’s house.

CHAPTER III

THE HUMAN MYSTERY OF THE WOODS

“Now, get to work!” shouted Dick Prescott.  “Destruction to all shirkers!”

“Please may I beg off for five minutes?” begged Danny Grin, raising one hand.

“Why?” queried Prescott sharply.

“I want to take that much time to convince myself that it’s all true,” replied Danny.

“You’ll know that it’s all true when you wake up to-morrow morning,” laughed Dick.  “But it won’t look half as real if any fellow shirks any part of his work now.  All ready, fellows?”

“Ready!” came the chorus.

“Tom Reade will make the best foreman, won’t he?” appealed Prescott.  “Tom has a knack for just such jobs as this, and it’s going to be a tough one.”

The boys stood in the middle of a half acre clearing in the deep woods, five miles past the town of Porter.  Here the woods extended for miles in every direction.  As these young campers glanced about them it seemed as though they possessed a wealth of camping material—–­far more than they had ever dreamed of owning.

The tent, twelve feet by twenty, and eleven feet high at the ridgepole, with six-foot walls, was their greatest single treasure.  It had cost thirty-five dollars, and had been bought from the nearest large city.