Well, this memorable glimpse of his mooseship was obtained in the year before our story.  And now, in the beginning of October, young Garst was off into Maine wilds again, having arranged to “do” the forest thoroughly after his usual fashion, seeing all he could of its countless phases of life, and finally to meet this same guide—­a dare-devil fellow who was reported to have had adventures in moose-hunting such as other woodsmen did not dream of—­at a log camp far in the wilderness.  Thence they could proceed to solitudes where the voice of man seldom echoed, where the foot of man rarely trod, and where moose signs were pretty sure to be found.

But there was one very unusual feature in his present expedition.  The student of nature, who generally started forth alone, was this year, owing to a freak of fate and to his natural good-nature, accompanied by two English lads.

Early in the summer of this same year, Francis Farrar, a wealthy cotton-merchant of Manchester, England, visited America on a business-trip, and became the guest of Cyrus’s father.  He brought with him his two sons, Neal, aged sixteen and a half, and Adolphus, familiarly called Dol, who was more than a year younger.

Both boys had been at a large public school, and physically, as well as mentally, were well developed.  They were accustomed to spending long vacations with their father at wild spots on the seashore, or amid mountains in England and Scotland.  They could tirelessly do a sixty-mile spin on their “wheels,” were good football players, excellent rowers, formed part of the crew of their father’s yacht, could skilfully handle gun and fishing-rod, but they had never camped out.

They knew none of the delights of sleeping in woodland quarters, with only a canvas or bark roof, or perhaps a few spruce boughs, between them and the sky—­

  “While a music wild and solemn
    From the pine-tree’s height
  Rolls its vast and sea-like volume
    On the wind of night.”

Small wonder, then, that when they heard Cyrus Garst tell of his camping excursions, of his jolly times, long tramps, and hairbreadth escapes, their hearts swelled with a tremendous longing to accompany him on the trip into northern Maine which he was then projecting for the following October.

Now, Cyrus at the first start-off conceived a liking for these English fellows, to whom, for his father’s sake, he played the part of genial host.  With a lordly recognition of his superior years he pronounced them “first-rate youngsters, with lots of snap in them.”  And as the acquaintance progressed, Neal Farrar, with his erect figure, broad chest, musical voice, and wide-apart gray eyes,—­so clear and honest that their glance was a beam,—­proved a personage so likable that the student adopted him as “chum,” forgetting those five years which had been a gulf between them.

Dol, whose eyes were of a more steely hue than his brother’s, striking fire readily and showing all manner of flinty lights, who had a downright talent for mimicry, and a small share of juvenile self-importance, came in for regard of a more indulgent and less equal nature.