holding onto a branch and peering forward.
"No," said the boy, "not so very. Trails always tack when there are steep places. It is just that way with troubles—they don't drop off like a precipice—they tack down safely, if you only find the trail."
For a few minutes longer they struggled through the tangled vines and ferns on the steep mountain-side, over decayed and moss-covered logs and sharp, slippery rocks, and heard the nearer and nearer rushing of the water almost straight below them in the gorge. "I'll tell you what we'll do," said the boy, finally; "You stay here for a little while, and I'll scout around and find the trail, and then I'll come back and get you."
"All right," said Marjorie, in a rather quavery voice, "only do hurry"; and she caught hold of a swinging vine, and stood waiting, anxiously, while she heard him crashing his way downward through the dense undergrowth. Several times he
