"You clean 'em, Lew," suggested Charley, "and I'll make a little
fireplace."

He selected a little shoulder of earth close to the run and began to dig
into it with a stick. In a moment he had uncovered a deposit of solid
clay. The clay was hard to dig, but he could shape his fireplace in it
exactly as he wanted it. When the task was completed, he started a very
small fire with leaves and small branches. By careful feeding, he kept the
flames burning clear, with almost no smoke. Presently he had a bed of
glowing coals that almost filled the little fireplace.

Lew, meantime, had cleaned the fish and cut some black birch branches
which he thrust through the fish lengthwise. Squatting beside the little
fire, the two boys now held the fish over the coals, turning them slowly,
and roasting them thoroughly. With the addition of the trout, their meal
was ample.

They ate slowly, and after their meal sat for a time beside their fire in
the warm sun, watching the forest life about them, and listening to the
song of the brook and the myriad other sounds of the woods. Finally they
prepared to leave. The fire had shrunken to a white bed of ashes.

"We'll make sure that it is out," commented Charley. And he stepped to the
run and got a hatful of water, which he poured on the ashes. To his
astonishment the ashes were washed away, leaving the fireplace bare. The
fireplace had changed color and looked as though made of brick. He touched
it and found it as hard as stone.

"Fire-clay," he said. "That's probably worth something. I'll take a sample