"
Rather sorrowfully, they went back to camp. The two days that followed
were lonesome ones. None of the three felt like doing anything. They did
not fish, and even the canoe had lost its charm. They sat around under
the trees, and, for the twentieth time, talked over the situation in
regard to their missing comrade.
"It looks as if the Darewell Chums would number three instead of four,
after this," said Fenn rather mournfully, on the morning of the third day
of Frank's absence.
"Don't be a calamity howler!" exclaimed Ned. "Frank will come back to us.
The chums can't be separated."
"I hope that's true," put in Bart, from where he was sitting under a
tree, smoothing one of the canoe paddles. "All our fun will be spoiled if
we have to break up the quartette.
"Hark! What's that?" asked Fenn, sitting up suddenly.
They all listened. There was the sound of someone approaching through
the bushes.
"Cow, I guess," said Bart.
"It's Frank!" cried Ned, jumping to his feet, and, the next instant Frank
was in the midst of his chums. He looked worn and tired, and his clothes
were covered with mud and water.
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