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"Men and boys learn a good many wholesome lessons in the forest, one of which is that it pays better to take a day of rest in seven if they want to make the most of themselves and their opportunities. Therefore, lads, we'll do no tramping to-day. And we'll have a bit of a service by and by over there under the pines."
So spoke Doctor Phil on the following morning, when the two sets of campers, now one joyous, brotherly crowd, were sitting or lounging about the pine-wood table, leisurely emptying tin mugs of tea or coffee, and eating porridge and rolls of Joe's baking.
"You haven't told us yet, Cyrus," he went on, "what point you're bound for. I know you're level-headed, and plan every forest trip beforehand, to economize time."
"Yes, a fellow likes to do that; it adds to the pleasures of anticipation," Garst answered. "But it's precious little use, after all, when you're visiting a region which is as full of surprises as an egg is full of meat. However, I have arranged to meet Herb Heal, the guide whom I generally employ, at a hunting-camp near Millinokett Lake."
"A good moose country," put in Doc.
"I know it. At all events, it is a good place for a home-camp; one can make excursions into the dense forests at the foot of Katahdin, which are unrivalled for big game—so Herb says, and he's an authority. These English fellows may expect to have an attack of buck-fever, or moose-fever rather, which will set their blood on fire. Not that we're out chiefly for killing; we're willing to let his mooseship keep a whole skin, and go in peace to replenish the forests, unless he grows cantankerous and charges us."
"If he happens to be an old bull, and gits his mad up, he may do that; it's as likely as not," chimed in Joe Flint, who was listening.
"Well, it there's a man in Maine who can be warranted to start a moose, and to follow up his trail until he gets a sight of him, living or dead, that man is Herb Heal," said the doctor. "And his adventures go ahead of those of any woodsman up to date. You must get him to tell you how he swam across a pond at the tail of a bull-moose, holding with his fingers and teeth to the creature's long hair, then got astraddle of its back, and severed its jugular vein with his hunting-knife. How's that! It was the liveliest swim I ever heard of. But I mustn't spoil his yarns. He must tell them himself.
"A fine son of the woods is Herb Heal!" went on the speaker, with enthusiasm. "I ran across him first five years ago, when he was trapping for fur-bearing animals in the dense forests you mentioned near the foot of Mount Katahdin. He had a partner with him then, a half-breed Indian, whom woodsmen called 'Cross-eyed Chris,' a willing, plucky, honest fellow when he was sober. But he loved fire-water. Let him once taste spirits, or smell them, and he went clean crazy. He did a dog's trick to Herb,—stole all his furs and savings, with a splendid pair of moose antlers, while he was away from camp one day, and skipped out of the State. Herb swore he'd shoot him. But I don't think he has ever come across him since. And if he should, he wouldn't stick to his threat. He's not built that way."
There was a general hum of interest over this story, which even Cyrus had not heard before.
"Now, how are you going to reach your camp on Millinokett Lake?" asked Dr. Phil, when the buzz had subsided. "That's the next question."
"We intend to tramp the entire distance by easy stages, and get there about the middle of October," answered young Garst for himself and his comrades. "Uncle Eb will go along with us as guide; and he'll supply a tent, so that we can rest for two or three nights at a time if we choose."
"Hum!" said the doctor doubtfully, laying his hand on Dol's shoulder. "This youngster oughtn't to do much tramping for a few days, Cyrus. That deer-road did up his feet pretty badly. I'll be travelling in your direction myself the day after to-morrow. I want to visit a farm-settlement within a dozen miles of the lake, where the farmer has a sickly child, the only treasure in his log shanty. The mite frets if Doc doesn't come to see her once in a while.
"Therefore, I propose that we join forces, and press forward together. I guess I'll keep my nephews out here for a week longer, and take the responsibility of their missing that time at school. Now that they have fallen in with your friends, it would be a shame to separate Young England and Young America without giving them a chance to get friendly."
Here Dr. Phil beamed upon the five boys, who, after one night in the forest, sleeping in a light-hearted row on the evergreen boughs, with their feet to the fire, had reached a brotherly intimacy which years of city life might not have bred.
"I further propose," he went on, "that we hire a roomy wagon and a pair of strong horses from a settler who has a clearing about two miles from here. There is an old logging-road which runs through the woods towards the point for which we're heading. We could follow that for the first half of our journey. It isn't a turnpike, you know. In fact, it's only a broad track where the underbrush has been cleared away, and the trees cut down, with strips of corduroy road sandwiched in. But the lumbermen still haul supplies over it to their camps, and I propose that we follow their example. We can pile our tent, camp duffle [stores], and all our packs into the wagon, together with the hero of the deer-road,"—winking at Dol,—"and the rest of us can take turns in riding. It will be a big lark for these youngsters to travel over a corduroy road. A very bracing ride they'll have in more senses than one; but they can spin plenty of yarns about it when they get home."
The "youngsters," one and all, signified their approval of the suggestion. Cyrus, who, as a college man, was above this category, was pleased to acquiesce too.
"When can we get the wagon, Doctor?" asked Neal, burning to press onward.
"Oh! the day after to-morrow, I guess. And now, lads!" Dr. Phil's voice was serious, but exultant, "we're a thoroughly happy set of fellows, in accord with each other and our surroundings. We feel our brains clear, our gladness springing up, and our lungs swelling to double their size with the whiffs which reach us from those sky-piercing pines yonder. So we will remember that 'the wide earth is our Father's temple.' Over there in the woods we will worship him, while millions of forest creatures about us, flying, bounding, or building, in obedience to his laws, simply worship too."
A music soft, deep, sighing, like the murmur of an organ under the fingers of a master musician, rolled through the pine-tops as the band of campers, guides included, followed Doc into the forest. They passed the clumps of slender trees near the camp, and reached a dimly-lit green aisle.
Towering pines, so tall and erect that they seemed shooting upward to kiss the clouds, were the pillars of their cathedral. Its roof of tasselled boughs was stabbed by flashing needles of sunlight, which let in a flickering, mellow radiance, and traced a pattern on the woodland carpet. Every whiff of forest air was natural incense.
Dr. Phil stood as if in the audience-chamber of the King, and removed his wide-brimmed hat.
"Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honor and glory, for ever and ever. Amen!" he said.
Then Cyrus's voice led the worship.
"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!"
he sang, in a strong, glad outburst.
Boys and guides, in a great chorus, swelled the familiar words. Each sweetly chirping woodland bird, after its own manner, echoed them. The music among the pine-tops mingled with them. The forest fairly rang with a magnificent, adoring Doxology.
"We ought to be decent kind of fellows after this," said Cyrus, when the little service was over.
And the doctor answered,—
"I tell you, boy, the church was never built where a man feels so ready to worship the God-Father in spirit and in truth as he does in the wild woods."
And looking on the six fresh, manly faces before him, Dr. Phil saw that this happy woodland trip would have grander results than adding to the campers' inches and to the breadth of their shoulders. For each one of them had realized this morning that behind all strength and beauties of forest growth, behind their own souls' gladness, was a Presence which they could "almost palpably feel."