she walked over to Mr. Pertell to point out a certain direction.
Thereupon he explained it carefully to her.

The company of players was out on the steamer, moving slowly up a quiet
stream, one of the tributaries of the Kissimmee River. On either side of
the swamp-like stream were tall trees, from which hung, in graceful
festoons, streamers of the peculiar growth known as Spanish moss. In the
background were palms and other semi-tropical plants. But the growth
along the stream itself was so luxuriant that little could be seen except
along the banks.

Now and then the quietude, which was unmarred, save by the gentle puffing
of the engine, would be disturbed by some big bird, as it forsook its
station on a fallen log, startled by the invasion of its domain. Again
there would be a splash in the water.

"An alligator!" exclaimed Miss Pennington, as one rather loud splash
sounded just beneath where she was leaning on the rail, looking down into
the water.

"Where?" cried Russ, eagerly, as he made ready to get some views of it
with his camera.

"There!" she said, pointing a trembling finger.

"Oh, don't look at it!" begged Miss Dixon, covering her face with her
hands. "Don't look at the horrid thing!"

"No harm in looking at that," laughed Russ. "It's only a log of wood."