Pushing her bow up sluggish streams--up rivers that flowed under arching
trees, heavy with the gray moss, went the _Magnolia_. The party of moving
picture players had been on the move for three days now, without a stop
for taking of pictures, save those Russ made of the negroes cutting wood
for the boilers. No dramas were to be made until they reached a certain
wild and uninhabited part of Florida, of which Mr. Pertell had heard, and
which he thought would be just right for his purpose.

They had left the vicinity of the alligator hunt, and were pushing on
into the interior. In reality it was not so many miles from Sycamore, but
it seemed a great way, so lonely was it in the palm forests and cypress
swamps.

"Seems to me this is lonely enough to suit anyone," observed Miss
Pennington as she sat on deck with the others, and looked up stream.

"It surely is--I feel like screaming just to know that there is something
alive around here," added Miss Dixon.

"Go ahead!" laughed Russ. "No one will stop you!"

"Really the silence does seem to get on one's nerves," put in Mr. Towne.
"It--er--interferes with--er--thinking, you know."

"Didn't know you ever indulged in that habit!" chaffed Paul.

"Oh, why--er--my deah fellah! Of course I do--at times. I find--I really
find I have to give a great deal of consideration--at times--to the suit