"Der spider vos a pusy little animal," observed Hans. "He sphins his veb und attends strictly to business. I dink I make up some boetry apout him," and the German boy began:
"Der vos von leetle sphider
Vot lifed owid in der voot,
He made himself a leetle veb
Und said dot it vos goot."
"Hurrah, for Hans!" cried Tom. "He's the true poet of spiderdom!" and then he added: "Hans, we'll crown you poet laureate if you say so."
"I ton't von no crown," answered Hans, complacently. "I chust so vell vear mine cap alretty."
As the party progressed the way become more uncertain, and at last they reached the edge of a swamp, beyond which was some kind of a canebrake. They saw numerous footprints in the soft soil, and these led further still to the westward.
"Listen!" said Dick, presently, and held up his hand.
All did as requested and from a distance heard somebody calling to somebody else. Then came a reply in Sid Merrick's voice.
"Merrick is talking to Shelley," said Dick. "They have lost the right trail, too."
