“That’s so!” said Bobby.  “We can boil ’em in that.”

With the ax—­in this country men never venture from home without an ax, for in wilderness traveling it is often a life saver—­Jimmy split some sticks, and then with his jackknife whittled shavings from the dry heart.  He stopped his knife just short of the end of the stick, until six or eight long, thin shavings were made, then, with a twist of the blade, he broke off the stub with the shavings attached to it.  Thus the shavings were held in a bunch.

Several of these bunches he made, working patiently, for patience and care are as necessary in building a fire as in doing anything else, and Skipper Ed had taught him that whatever he did should be done with all the care possible.  And so in making a fire he gave as much care to the cutting of shavings and placing of sticks as though it had been something of the highest importance, and doing it in this way he seldom failed to light his fire, rain or shine, with a single match.  Fire making in the open is a fine art.

When Jimmy had collected enough shavings for his purpose, he placed two of his split sticks upon the ground at right angles to each other, an end of one close up to the end of the other.  Then, holding a bunch of shavings by the thick, or stub, end, he struck a match and lighted the thin end, and when it was blazing well placed the unlighted end upon the two sticks where they met.  Other bunches of shavings he laid on this, the thin ends in the blaze, the thick ends elevated upon the sticks.  Then came small splits, and bigger splits, and in a moment he had a crackling fire.

He now secured a pole six or seven feet in length, and fixed one end firmly in the ground, with the other end sloped over the fire.  On this he hung first, by its bale, the old bailing kettle, filled with water, and then the tea pail, in such a way as to bring them directly over the blaze, and though the fire was a small one, it was not many minutes before the kettles boiled.  Then while Bobby dropped half a dozen eggs into the bailing kettle, Jimmy lifted the tea pail off, put some tea into it, and set it by the fire to brew.

“Now,” said Jimmy, presently, “let’s go for it.”

And they ate, as only hungry boys can, and with the keen relish of youths who live in the open.

“Let’s see if we can’t get some of the eggs off the cliff now,” suggested Bobby, when they were through.  “I know I can climb down there.”

“I’ve tried it plenty of times,” said Jimmy, “and I don’t believe it can be done.  You can’t get in from this end, and the top hangs over so you can’t get in from the top.”

“Let’s go up on top and try to get down, anyhow,” insisted Bobby.  “I know what!  There’s a harpoon line in the skiff.  Father always keeps it stuffed in under the seat aft.  We can tie an end of it under my arms and you can let me down, and then pull me back.”

And so without loss of time the young adventurers secured the harpoon line, and climbing out of the gully followed the top of the cliff to a place where birds were numerous.