CHAPTER VIII.
THE STEAM-BOAT IN THE FOREST.
We were in a narrow river, where the tall trees met overhead, while the lower branches and the smaller trees brushed against the little boat as it steamed along.

This was the Oclawaha River, and Rectus and I thought it was as good as fairy-land.

We stood on the bow of the boat, which wasn't two feet above the water, and took in everything there was to see.
The river wound around in among the great trees, so that we seldom could see more than a few hundred yards ahead, and every turn we made showed us some new picture of green trees and hanging moss and glimpses into the heart of the forest, while everything was reflected in the river, which was as quiet as a looking-glass.
"Talk of theatres!" said Rectus.
"No, don't," said I.
At this moment we both gave a little jump, for a gun went off just behind us.

We turned around quickly, and saw that the tall yellow-legs had just fired at a big bird.

He didn't hit it.
"Hello!" said Rectus; "we'd better get our gun.