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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Why, Cyrus Garst!" exclaimed the latter, peering into the new-comer's face. "How goes it, man? I never expected to see you here. Surely you haven't come to grief in the woods? You look scared to death!" Cyrus for it was he grasped the welcoming hand which the owner of this camp extended to him. But his dark eyes did not linger a moment meeting the other's.
"We intend to tramp the entire distance by easy stages, and get there about the middle of October," answered young Garst for himself and his comrades. "Uncle Eb will go along with us as guide; and he'll supply a tent, so that we can rest for two or three nights at a time if we choose." "Hum!" said the doctor doubtfully, laying his hand on Dol's shoulder.
And now, in the beginning of October, young Garst was off into Maine wilds again, having arranged to "do" the forest thoroughly after his usual fashion, seeing all he could of its countless phases of life, and finally to meet this same guide a dare-devil fellow who was reported to have had adventures in moose-hunting such as other woodsmen did not dream of at a log camp far in the wilderness.
And my stars! how they scud along on them big hoofs. I'd back 'em in a race against the smartest of your city chaps that ever spun through Maine on his new-fangled 'wheel, that he's so sot on." Garst, who was an enthusiastic cyclist, with a gurgle of unbelieving mirth, prepared to dispute this.
A girl of sixteen, with hair like the brown and gold of a pheasant's breast, opened a drawing-room door, stepped to Neal's side, and whispered, "Introduce me!" "My sister," said Neal, recovering self-possession. "Myrtle, I believe I'll let you guess for yourself which is Garst and which is Sinclair."
When his paroxysm had subsided, and he stood off to get breath, Garst hailed again. Glad sound! An answer this time! First, a shrill, long "Coo-hoo!" Next, Herb's voice was heard pealing from far away in the bog: "What's up, boys? Where in the world are you?" "Here in the trees treed by a bull-moose!" yelled Cyrus. "He's the maddest old monster you ever saw.
The one point of variance is this: while all guides admire young Garst as a crack shot with a rifle, he frequently dumfounds them by letting slip stunning chances at game, big and little.
"Couldn't one of you boys say a bit of a prayer?" asked Herb in a thick voice. "I ain't used to spouting." All former help had been easily given. This was a harder matter, yet not so difficult as it would have been amid a city congregation. Garst tried to recall some suitable prayer from a funeral service; so did Neal. Both failed.
"A Christmas dinner with a whole tribe of Farrars, big and little." "But our baggage hasn't come on yet," answered Garst ruefully. "Will Mrs. Farrar excuse our appearing in travelling rig?" "Indeed she will!" answered for herself a fair, motherly-looking English woman, as pretty as Myrtle save for the gold-brown hair, while she came a few steps into the hall to welcome her sons' friends.
To plough through them soaked forests below would be enough to give you city fellows a shaking ague." "Couldn't we climb on to your old log camp?" suggested Garst. "If we have the luck to find the old shanty holding together, we can light a fire there after things dry out a bit, and eat our snack. Then we needn't be in a hurry to get down. We'll risk it, anyhow."
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