The forester smiled indulgently.  “It sounds good,” he commented.  “But you forget that we have no wireless and that none of us knows anything about radio-telegraphy.  No; I am afraid I can’t use you, though I’d like to.  If you still want a job when you are of age, come to me.  I can use you as a patrol and I might even have a place for you as a ranger.  We have mighty few rangers as well educated and equipped as you will be.  Or you might even decide to go to Mont Alto and take a degree in forestry and become a forester like myself.  I would like to see you in the service, but I can’t take you in now.  I must get on with my work and hurry back to my office.  Good-bye and good luck to you.  And don’t forget about your fires.”

Turning to the elder of his two companions, he said, “All right, Finnegan.  Go ahead.”

The man stepped to the nearest tree, slipped his calipers on it breast-high, then glanced aloft.  “White pine, forty-three, five,” he called.

The forester put down the figures in his cruising book.

“Hemlock, twenty-eight, four,” called the other man.

The men were experienced timber cruisers.  They were measuring the amount of wood in the forest.  The first man meant that the white pine tree he was measuring was forty-three inches in diameter breast-high and would make five standard logs, each sixteen feet long.  The second scaler had measured a hemlock twenty-eight inches in diameter and long enough for four logs.  They were measuring the timber on a few acres, so as to form an estimate of the amount for sale.

The work interested Lew greatly, but Charley had no heart for anything.  He had fought hard and apparently his last chance had slipped away from him.

He was very quiet as they made their way through the valley.  Even the run in the bottom failed to stir him, though he loved the little mountain streams passionately.  Yet he did notice that here, beneath the lofty pines, where the forest mold lay deep and spongy, the brook flowed strongly.  It sang as it rushed along between its rugged banks.  But there was no music in its song for Charley.  So alluring was the stream that Lew wanted to fish, but Charley had no heart even to try for a trout; though it was practically a certainty that there were trout aplenty to be had.  Time heals all wounds.  It would heal Charley’s:  but not enough time had yet elapsed for the healing process to begin.  At present he could think of nothing but his dismal prospects.

So they went on through the bottom and slowly ascended the opposite mountain.  As they had suspected might be the case, it was impossible to distinguish the landmarks they had chosen.  The innumerable great trunks of the pines cut off their vision as effectually as a high board fence could have done.  But the slope of the land told them which way to go, and the freedom from underbrush made it possible for them to travel in a comparatively straight line.  So they reached the crest of the mountain, after a stiff climb, not far from the spot which they had selected.