"I see that Winn is not behind his age in getting into scrapes.

He reminds me of another young fellow who went campmates with me on the plains, Glen Matherson--no, Eddy.

No; come to think of it, his name is Elting.

Well, any way, he had just such a habit of getting into all sorts of messes; but he always came out of each one bright and smiling, right side up with care, and ready for the next." "He had names enough, whoever he was," said Elta, a little coldly; for it seemed to her that this flippant young uncle was rather inclined to disparage her own dear brother.

"Yes, he certainly had names to spare; but if he was half as well able to take care of himself as our Winn is, no one ever had an excuse for worrying about him." "No, indeed!" broke in the young man, eagerly; "but I tell you he was-- Why, you just ought to have seen him when--" "Here comes father!" cried Elta, joyfully, running to throw open the door as she spoke.
[1] See _Campmates_, by the same Author..