of the lumber camp.

The day of departure dawned clear and bright. The air was cool and
bracing, the ground glistened with the heavy autumn dew that the sun had
not yet had time to drink up, and the village was not fairly astir for
the day when Mr. Stewart drove up to Mrs. Kingston's door for his young
passenger. He was not kept long waiting, for Frank had been ready fully
half-an-hour beforehand, and all that remained to be done was to bid his
mother "good-bye," until he should return with the spring floods.
Overflowing with joy as he was at the realization of his desire, yet he
was too fond a son not to feel keenly the parting with his mother, and
he bustled about very vigorously, stowing away his things in the back of
the waggon, as the best way of keeping himself under control.

He had a good deal of luggage for a boy. First, of all, there was his
chest packed tight with warm clothing; then another box heavy with cake,
preserves, pickles, and other home-made dainties, wherewith to vary the
monotony of shanty fare; then a big bundle containing a wool mattress, a
pillow, two pairs of heavy blankets, and a thick comforter to insure his
sleep being undisturbed by saucy Jack Frost; and finally, a narrow box
made by his own father to carry the light rifle that always accompanied
him, together with a plentiful supply of ammunition. In this box Frank
was particularly interested, for he had learned to handle this rifle
pretty well during the summer, and looked forward to accomplishing great
things with it when he got into the woods.

Mr. Stewart laughed when he saw all that Frank was taking with him.

"I guess you'll be the swell of the camp, and make all the other fellows
wish they had a mother to fit them out. It's a fortunate thing my