Through the hollow of his hands he cried out the long, musical, morning call of the woodsman. "R-o-o-oll out!" he cried. The forest took up the sound in dying modulations. For answer Barbara threw aside the tent-flap and stepped into the sun. "Good-morning," said she. "Salut!" he replied. "Come and I will show you the spring." "I am sorry I cannot offer you a better variety for your breakfast.