“That needs no interpreter.  Phil, your dream is now demanded.  Tell it truly, lie and you will live to suffer.  Careful, now, and do not hurry.”

“Well, I dreamed a dandy,” cried Phil.  “I saw a crazy loon standing in front of a fire, gazing into fiery embers, and—­” There was a crackling in the fire, a shower of sparks went up, and one of the altar stones turned over.

“O, how sad,” groaned Ham, “that such a man should lie so to the great Spook Doctor.  In wrath he tears down the altar—­hisses forth his disapproval in clouds of tiny spark-thoughts.  Willis, you are next.  Now, do not rile the mighty Master.”  “Well,” said Willis, “my dream was not so strange.  I just dreamed over and over the thoughts I took to bed with me.  I saw cabins and mines and tunnels and miners of all descriptions, only that there was one that looked very familiar, and it was a very hard one to find and get to.”  Ham had failed to replenish the fire, and it had burned to a tiny, smoldering heap of ashes.

“I can not answer that one,” said Ham, “for the Great Spirit has now left me.  Let’s eat our breakfast, and I hope it will be more substantial than these dreams.”

Soon breakfast was under way.  It was a simple meal and soon over with.  Cooking utensils were washed and packs rolled, ready for the day’s journey.

“What time of day?” asked Chuck.

“Seven-ten,” promptly replied Willis, “and just the time to be starting through the Park, if we want to see it before the dew is gone.”  At the spring they stopped to drink and to examine the deer tracks in the soft, black muck.  From there the trail led off, zigzaging down the gentle slope.  On either side of the path the wild grasses and ferns grew in rank profusion, while scattered here and there on the soft, green carpet were great numbers of dainty Maraposa lilies.  Now and then a tall, green stalk of the columbine could be seen, and occasionally a wooly circle of bracts on the stem of a late anemone.  At intervals tall ferns bent over the woodland pathway, as if to hide and protect it for the private use of the many tiny wild feet that scampered over it daily.

“Isn’t this great,” cried Ham.  “Just take a peek at that grove of trees.  I’ll bet that grass is full of snakes and rabbits.  I’d like to take a shot at a big ‘jack’ this morning.”

“It’s an old swamp,” replied Willis.  “Perhaps there was once a little lake here.  Wouldn’t it be a swell place for a shanty?  I’ll bet it’s full of grouse.”

“I suppose it was once an Indian camping ground,” suggested Mr. Allen.  “Just a little flat oasis on the summit of a granite mountain.  Remember where we came up last night?  Now, look away off there,” pointing his finger.  “We are ten thousand feet above the sea up here; up where we can see how the world is made, and how beautiful it is.”