Now, how is that for a match for your limerick?"

This started the ball a-rolling. Dora Lockwood raised her hand, crying,

"Please, teacher! I have one," and immediately produced this:

"'There was a small boy who lived in Jamaica, Who bought a lobster wrapped in a brown paper; The paper was thin And the lobster grabbed him—— What an awful condition that small boy was in!'"

This woke up Dorothy Lockwood, who would not be outdone by her twin. She recited:

"'In Huron, a hewer, Hugh Hughes, Hued yew-trees of unusual hues. Hugh Hughes used blue yews To build sheds for his ewes; So his ewes a blue-hued yew shed use.'"

"Great Scott, girl!" gasped Chet. "That almost twisted your tongue out of kilter."

"Any more?" queried Lance, who likewise had wonderingly listened to this display of talent. "Ah-ha! I see Nellie just bursting with one."

"Yes. I have a good one," admitted the doctor's daughter. "Hear it:

"'A right-handed writer named Wright In writing "write" always wrote "rite." Where he meant to write "write," If he'd written "write" right, Wright would not have wrought rot writing "rite.'"

Now! let's hear you say that fast?"

This certainly was a teaser and the boys admitted it. Finally somebody shouted for Mother Wit. "Come on, Laura! where are you?" demanded Bobby. "Are you going to let us mere 'amachoors' beat you? Give us a limerick."

Mother Wit was expected to keep up with the other wits, that was sure. So she obliged with:

"'A smart young fisher named Fischer, Fished for fish from the edge of a fissure. A fish, with a grin, Pulled the fisherman in. Now they're fishing the fissure for Fischer.'

"And now, boys, while we have been entertaining you," concluded Laura, "you have gotten behind the Duchess again."

"That's right, Lance," said Chet. "Give her some more power."

"Electricity is a wonderful thing," said Jess, seriously. "Just think how fast it travels."

"How fast?" demanded Bobby.

"Something like 250,000 miles a second, I read somewhere."

"And so," remarked Bobby, grinning, "if it hits anybody, it tells the judge it was going about ten miles an hour."

They were out for a good time and could laugh at almost anything that was said, or was done. Freed from what Bobby called "the scholastic yoke," the whole world seemed a big joke to them.

"I know we're going to have the finest kind of a time at Acorn Island!" the cut-up exclaimed.

"Well! I hope there's nothing much to do there to-night, save to eat supper," Jess said, yawning. "So much ozone is already making me sleepy."

"Father Tom promised to have a man there to meet us, who would even have the fire going and the teakettle boiling," said Bobby. "You see, he's been up here hunting and fishing, and these guides all know him. He can get what he wants from them."

The boats chugged on up the river and finally, as the evening began to draw in, they sighted the broadening sheet of water which they knew to be Lake Dunkirk. The lake was longer, but much narrower, than Lake Luna, and it was surrounded by an unbroken line of forest.

The sun was setting. Its last beams shone upon the island which lay about two miles above the entrance to Rocky River, and that island looked like an emerald floating on the blue water.

The light was fast fading out of the sky, save where the west was still riotous with colors. The big oaks on Acorn Island grew black as the shadows gathered beneath them.

At the nearer end was the hillock where they were to camp. Here the grove was open and they could see the cabin standing, with two tents beside it. One of the tents had a raised flap, and there was the stovepipe with a curl of smoke coming out of it.

Down at the edge of the shore—a smooth and sheltered bit of beach where the landing was easy—a man was sitting, smoking his pipe. A beautiful canoe, of Indian manufacture, had its bow drawn up beside him.

The boys and girls shouted a welcome as they drove in toward the shore. He rose, knocking the ashes from his pipe, and waved a hand toward the camp above. He was a tall man, almost as black as a negro, with long, black hair, and was barefooted.

"All right!" he grunted, gutturally. Then he pushed off, stepped into his canoe, and paddled away without another word.

The boats were beached and the young people began to disembark. Before the guide in the canoe got half way to the northern shore of the lake, he was lost to their sight, the darkness came down so suddenly.



CHAPTER X

GETTING USED TO IT

The boys were in haste to get to their own camping site, which was across from the island on the southern shore of Lake Dunkirk. So they hurried the baggage belonging to Mrs. Morse and the girls to the cabin, and then prepared to embark again with their own boats.

Chet saw to it that everything appeared to be in good shape about the camp on the island knoll, and he drew up the three canoes belonging to the girls, himself.

"Now, if you girls get into trouble to-night, toot this thing," and Chet produced an automobile horn which he had brought along for the purpose. "If you need us by day, Laura knows how to wig-wag with those flags. I taught her."

"For pity's sake, Chet!" exclaimed Jess, with some asperity. "Do you suppose we are going to need you boys every hour, or so?"

"I hope not!" added Lil Pendleton. "Surely we ought to be able to get along in camp just as well as you boys."

"Hear! hear!" cried Bobby. "How are you going to summon us if you need help, my dear little boys? Sha'n't we give you each a penny whistle so you can call us?"

Chet only laughed. Lance said: "We've been camping before; most of you girls haven't. Of course you will get into trouble forty times to our once."

"Well! I like that," sniffed Jess, who did not like it at all. "If girls aren't just as well able to take care of themselves, as boys, I'd like to know why."

"Jess is getting to be a regular suffragette," chuckled Dora Lockwood.

"Reminds me of the little girl whose mother was chasing the hens out of the garden," said Laura, with her low laugh. "The hen-chaser declared that 'You can't teach a hen anything, to save your life,' when the little girl spoke up for her sex, and said: 'Well! I think they know quite as much as the roosters!'"

"And that's all right," teased Lance, as the boys got under way. "I bet this bunch of hens on Acorn Island will holler for us roosters before we set the distress signal for them."

"Get out, you horrid thing!" cried Bobby. "Calling us hens. We're only pullets, at best."

A lantern had been lit in each tent, for the shadows were thickening under the oak trees on the knoll. Lizzie Bean at once began to overhaul the cooking utensils and supplies in the cook-tent.

This tent was divided into two parts. Lizzie's own cot was in the rear apartment. There was a long table, roughly built but serviceable, in the front with the stove and chest of drawers. There were folding campstools in plenty.

In the cabin was a comfortable straw mattress for Mrs. Morse in the wide bunk, a small table on which her typewriter case already stood, a rocker made in rustic fashion, a painted dressing case with mirror of good size, and shelves for books.

A small fire was burning on the hearth, for the cabin was apt to be damp after its many months of abandonment. It had been swept and garnished with boughs of sweet-smelling spruce and pine.

The girls' sleeping tent housed seven cots, all supplied with unbleached cotton sheets and heavy double blankets. Lil Pendleton looked about it when she brought in her bag, and shivered.

"Goodness!" she said. "I'm glad we're 'way out here in the wilderness if we're going to dress and undress in this thing. Why! I shall feel just as much exposed as though the sides were made of window-glass."

"What nonsense!" sniffed Bobby, who had been camping with her father and had spent many a night in a tent. "You're too particular, Lil."

"Who asked you to put in your oar?" demanded Miss Pendleton, crossly. "I have a right to my opinion, I hope."

"I should hope it was nobody else's opinion," returned Miss Bobby, quick to pick up the gauntlet.

"Hush, girls!" advised Mother Wit. "Let us not be quarrelsome. We don't want Mrs. Morse to think we are female savages right at the start."

Lil sniffed; but good-tempered Bobby said, quickly: "You're right, Laura. I beg the company's pardon—and Lil's particularly. We must be 'little birds who in their nest agree.'"

"You're a fine bird, Bobby," laughed Dora. "Come on! I hear the dishes rattling. Let's see what Lizzie has tossed up for supper."

"I wonder if she managed to boil the water without burning it?" giggled Jess. "She's the funniest girl!"

"I should think you and Laura could have found a maid who wasn't quite such a gawk," muttered Lil, unpleasantly.

"Hush!" admonished Mother Wit. "Don't let her hear you."

"Why not?" snapped Lil.

"You will hurt her feelings."

"Pooh! she's paid for it——"

"Not for having her feelings hurt," declared Laura, sternly. "And I won't have it. She's odd; but she is quite as quick of hearing as the next person."

"Aw, you're too particular, Laura," drawled Lil. But she stood a little in awe of Mother Wit.

They joined Mrs. Morse and filed into the cook-tent. Lizzie's flushed face appeared behind the steaming biscuits and a big platter of ham and eggs. They did not really know how hungry they were until they sat down to these viands.

Lizzie stood with arms akimbo and waited for the verdict upon the cooking.

"Most excellent, Lizzie," Mrs. Morse said, kindly.

"Suits ye, does it?" asked the strange girl. "I flatter myself them biscuits air light enough to sleep on."

"They are a good deal more feathery than our 'downy couches' here in camp, I warrant, Lizzie," laughed Laura.

"Glad ye like 'em. There's plenty of biscuits—don't be bashful."

Jess giggled when she saw Lil's face. "How rude!" muttered Miss Pendleton. "I don't see what you and Mother Wit were thinking about when you hired that girl."

"Thinking of you, Lily—thinking of you," declared Jess. "She will willingly do your share of the dish-washing."

"Dish-washing? Fancy!" exclaimed Lil. "I'd like to see myself!"

"Well I wouldn't," put in the omnipresent Bobby. "Not if I had to eat after your manipulation of the dish-mop."

"But we didn't come to do anything like that," wailed Lil.

"Just the same we have got to do a part of the camp work," declared Mother Wit. "It all can't be shoved off onto Lizzie."

"Let us arrange about that right here and now," suggested Mrs. Morse.

"Oh, Mrs. Morse!" cried Nell, eagerly. "First of all I vote that Mrs. Morse is not called upon to do a thing! She's company as well as chaperon."

"I will make my own bed," said the lady, smiling. "You girls can take turns sweeping and dusting the cabin, if you like."

"And making the beds and cleaning up our tent," added Laura. "Two at a time—it won't seem so hard if two work together."

"A good idea," agreed Mrs. Morse.

"But that leaves an odd girl," suggested Jess.

"We'll change about. The odd girl shall help the cook. And one meal a day—either breakfast, dinner, or supper—we girls must cook, and Lizzie is going to have nothing to do with that meal."

"Why! I can't cook," wailed Lil again.

"Good time for you to begin to learn, then," Laura said, laughingly.

Some of the other girls looked disturbed at the prospect. "I can make fudge," observed Nell, honestly, "but I never really tried anything else, except to make toast and tea for mother when she was ill and the maid was out."

"Listen to that!" exclaimed the voice of Lizzie Bean, who had been listening frankly to the dialogue. "An' I been doin' plain cookin' an' heavy sweepin' and hard scrubbin' ever since I was knee-high to a toadstool!"

Bobby burst out laughing. "So have I, Lizzie!" she cried. "Only I have done it for Father Tom and my kid brothers and sisters when Mrs. Betsey was sick."

Lily Pendleton turned up her nose—literally. "We're going to have trouble with that girl," she announced to Nellie. "She doesn't know her place."

But whatever Lizzie knew, or did not know, she did not shirk her share of the work. She stayed up after everybody else had retired and washed every pot and pan and plate, and set her bread to rise for morning, and stirred up a big pitcher of flapjack flour to rise over night, peeled potatoes to fry, leaving them in cold water so they would not turn black, and set the long table fresh for breakfast.

When the earliest riser among the girls (who was Laura herself) peeped into the cooking tent at daybreak, the fire in the stove was already roaring, and Lizzie had gone down to the shore to wash her face and hands in the cold water. Laura ran down in her bathing suit.

"What do you think of this place, Lizzie?" she asked the solemn-faced girl.

"For the land's sake, Miss!" drawled Lizzie Bean, "I never had no idea the woods was so lonesome—for a fac'."

"No?"

"I sh'd say not! I went to bed and lay there an' listened. The trees creaked, and the crickets twittered, and some bird had the nightmare an' kep' cryin' like a baby——"

"I expect that was a screech-owl, Lizzie," interrupted Laura. "They come out only at night."

"Goodness to gracious! Do they come out every night?" demanded the girl.

"I expect so."

"And them frogs?"

"They are tree-toads. Yes, they are here all summer, I guess."

"Goodness to gracious! And folks like to live in the woods? Well!"

"Do you think you can stand it?" queried Laura, much amused, yet somewhat anxious, too.

"As long as I'm goin' to get all that money every week it'll take more than birds with the nightmare an' a passel of frogs to drive me away. Now! when do you want breakfast, Miss?"

"Not until Mrs. Morse gets up. And none of the other girls are out yet," said Laura.

But very soon the other girls began to appear. They had agreed to have a dip the first thing, and the girls who first got into the water squealed so because of the cold, that it routed out the lie-abeds.

Lily would not venture in. She sat on a stump, with a blanket wrapped around her, and shivered, and yawned, and refused to plunge in with the others.

"And it's so early," she complained. "I had no idea you'd all get up so early and make such a racket. Why, when there isn't school, I never get up before nine o'clock."

"Ah! how different your life is going to be on Acorn Island," said Bobby, frankly. "You'll be a new girl by the time we go back home."

"I don't want to be a new girl," grumbled Lily.

"Now, isn't that just like her?" said Bobby, sotto voce. "She is perfectly satisfied with herself as she is. Humph! Lucky she is satisfied, I s'pose, for nobody else could be!"



CHAPTER XI

LIZ SEES A "HA'NT"

After their bath the girls got into their gymnasium costumes. Then they clamored for breakfast, and had Mrs. Morse not appeared just then there certainly would have been a riot at the cook-tent. Lizzie was a stickler for orders, and she would not begin to fry cakes until Jess' mother gave the signal.

Flapjacks! My! weren't they good, with butter and syrup, followed by bacon and eggs and French fried potatoes? The girls ate for a solid hour. Lizzie's face was the color of a well-burned brick when the girls admitted they were satisfied. The out-of-door air had given even Lil an enormous appetite.

"If my mother had any idea that I'd eat so much at this time in the morning she'd never have let me come camping," she said. "Why! do you know—I only drink a cup of coffee and pick the inside out of a roll, at breakfast, at home."

There was a general inclination to "laze" about the camp and read, or take naps after that heavy breakfast. But Laura would not allow the other six girls of Central High any peace.

"Of course, we have a big ham and a case of eggs with us," said Mother Wit. "But we don't want to eat ham and eggs, or bacon and eggs, three times a day while we stay here.

"Beside, the eggs, at least, won't hold out. We must add to the larder——"

"What shall we do?" asked Dora Lockwood. "Paddle to the mainland and kill some farmer's cow to get beef?"

"No, indeed," Laura said, laughing. "We must, however, make an attempt to coax some of the finny denizens of the lake out of it and into Lizzie's fry-pan."

"Fishing!" cried Dorothy.

"I never went fishing in my life," complained Lil.

But the other girls of Central High were not like Lil—no, indeed! They had been out with the boys on Lake Luna—both in summer and winter—and every one of them knew how to put a worm on a hook.

Lil squealed at the thought of "using one of the squirmy things."

"Aw, you give me a pain!" said Bobby. "Don't act as though you were made of something different from the rest of us. A worm never bit me yet, and I've been fishing thousands of times, I guess."

Lil did not hear her, however. She was the only girl who had not brought fishing tackle. When she saw her six schoolmates going about the work of tolling the finny denizens of Lake Dunkirk onto the bank, she began to be jealous of the fun they were having. White perch, and roach, and now and then a lake trout, were being landed.

Lil got excited. She wanted to try her hand at the sport, too. Yes! Bobby had an extra outfit, and she even cut Lil a pole.

"But I tell you what it is, Miss," said the black-eyed girl, "I'm going to hold you responsible for this outfit. If you break anything, or lose anything, or snarl the line up, you'll have to pay me for it. I paid good money for that silk line and those hooks."

Lil promised to make good if anything happened to the fishing tackle. She took her place on a rock near Bobby and made a cast. The other girls were very busy themselves and paid Lil very little attention.

The fish were biting freely, for the morning was cloudy and these waters about Acorn Island were far from being "fished out." Bobby hauled in a couple of perch and had almost forgotten about Lil, when the latter said, mournfully:

"Say, Clara."

"Well! what is it?" demanded the other.

"What do you call that little thing that bobbed up and down on the water?"

"The float," replied the busy Bobby.

"Well, Clara!" whined Lil, mournfully.

"Well! what is it?" snapped the busy fisherman.

"I'll have to buy you a new one."

"Buy me what?" demanded the surprised Bobby.

"A new float."

"What for?" was the amazed demand.

"Because that one you lent me has sunk," mourned Lily.

"For goodness' sake!" shrieked Bobby. "You've got a bite!"

She dropped her own pole, ran to the amazed Lily, and dragged in a big bullpout—sometimes called "catfish"—that was sulking in the mud at the bottom, with Lil's hook firmly fastened in its jaws.

Lil shrieked. She would not touch the wriggling, black fish. She was afraid of being "horned," she said!

Bobby put her foot on the fish and managed to extract the hook. Then she baited the hook again and bade Lil try her luck once more.

But the amateur fisherman was doomed to ill-luck on this occasion. She had scarcely dropped the bait into the water, when a fierce little head appeared right at the surface. It swallowed the bait—hook and all—at a gulp, and swam right toward the shore where Lil stood.

She began to squeal again: "A snake! a snake! Oh, Bobby, I'm deathly afraid of snakes."

"So am I," rejoined Bobby. "But you won't catch a snake in the water with a hook and line."

"I've caught one!" gasped the frightened Lil.

"Gee!" growled Bobby. "You're more trouble than a box of bald-headed monkeys. What is the matter—Oo! it's a snapper!"

"A what?" cried Lil, dropping the fishpole.

"A snapping turtle," explained Bobby. "Now you have caught it! I'll lose hook and all, like enough."

She jerked the turtle ashore. Lil had seen only its reptilian head. The beast proved to be more than a foot across.

"Makes bully soup," said the practical Bobby. "But he won't willingly let go of that bait and the hook in a month of Sundays."

She ran up to the camp and came flying back in a minute with the camp-hatchet. Lil grew bold enough to hold the line taut. The turtle pulled back, and Bobby caught it just right and cut its head off!

Although Lonesome Liz had never seen a turtle before, she managed to clean it and with Mrs. Morse's advice made a pot of soup. Lizzie was getting bolder as the hours passed; but she announced to Laura that she believed there must be "ha'nts" in the woods.

"What is a haunt?" asked Laura, curiously.

"Dead folks that ain't contented in their minds," declared the queer girl.

"And why should the spirits of the dead haunt these woods?" asked Laura. "Seems to me it's an awfully out of the way place for dead people to come to."

But Lizzie would not give up her belief in the "spooks."

That first day in camp the girls had no visitors. Through their binoculars and opera glasses, they could see the boys very active about their camp across the lake. It was plain they were too busy to visit Acorn Island.

The girls of Central High, however, had plenty of fun without the boys. Only Bobby declared that Lil principally spent the time staring through her opera glasses across the lake, wishing Purt would come over in the Duchess; but Lil angrily denied that.

"And you stop trying to stir up a rumpus, Miss," commanded Laura, to the cut-up. "Let us live, if we can, like a Happy Family."

"My!" drawled Jess, "Mother Wit is nothing if not optimistic."

"Ha! what is your idea of an optimist?" demanded Nellie Agnew.

"Why," Jess said, smiling quietly, "I read of a real optimist once. He was strolling along a country road and an automobile came along and hit him in the back. It knocked him twenty feet.

"'Oh, well!' said he, as he got up, 'I was going in this direction, anyway.'"

"Aw, say!" put in Bobby, "that's all right for a story; but my idea of a real optimist is a man who's dead broke, going into a restaurant and ordering oysters on the half shell with the hope that he can pay for the dinner by finding a pearl in one of the bivalves."

They all laughed at that, and then Laura said:

"To get back to our original conversation, let us see if we can't get on in this camp without friction. And that means that you, Bobby, must set a watch on your tongue."

"What do you suppose my tongue is—a timekeeper?" cried the irreverent Bobby.

Laura herself helped get dinner, the main dish of which was fried fish. And how good they tasted, fresh out of the lake!

Mrs. Morse had kept her typewriter tapping at a swift pace in the cabin, and she could scarcely be coaxed to leave her story long enough to eat dinner.

"This quietude is an incentive to good work," she said, reflectively, at table. "I shall be sorry to go back to town."

But it was very early in their experience to say that. Lizzie Bean was not yet an enthusiast for the simple life, that was sure. She and Mother Wit had gotten better acquainted during the preparations for the noonday meal.

"I ain't never been crazy about the country myself," admitted Liz. "Cows, and bugs, and muskeeters, and frogs, don't seem so int'restin' to me as steam cars, and pitcher shows, and sody-water fountains, and street pianners.

"I like the crowds, I do. A place where all ye hear all day is a mowin' merchine clackin', or see a hoss switchin' his tail to keep off the bluebottles, didn't never coax me, much."

"The bucolic life does not tempt you, then?" said Laura, her eyes twinkling.

"Never heard it called that afore. Colic's it serious thing—'specially with babies. But the city suits me, I can tell ye," said Liz.

"I never seen no-one that liked the woods like you gals seem to before, 'ceptin' a feller that lived in the boardin' house I worked at in Albany. He was a bug on campin' and fishin' and gunnin', and all that."

"Did you work in Albany?" queried Laura, surprised.

"Yep. Last year. I had a right good place, too. Plenty of work. I got up at four o'clock in the mornin' and I never did get through at night!"

"Oh, my!"

"Yep. I love work. It keeps yer mind off yer troubles, if you have enough and plenty to do. But if yer have too much of it, yer get fed up, as ye might say. I didn't get time to sleep."

Laura had to laugh at that.

"Yep. That chap I tell you about was the nicest chap I ever see. He was kind to me, too. When I cut my thumb most off—see the scar?—a-slicin' bread in that boardin' house, the missis put me out 'cause I couldn't do my work."

"How mean!" exclaimed Laura.

"Ah! ye don't know about boardin' house missises. They ain't human," said Liz, confidently. "But Mr. Norman, he seen me goin' out with my verlise, and he knowed about my sore thumb. He slipped me five dollars out o' his pocket. But he was rich," sighed Liz, ecstatically. "He owned a bank."

"Owned a bank?" gasped Laura.

"Yep."

"And lived in a cheap boarding house?" for Laura knew that Liz could not have worked in a very aristocratic place.

"Well! he went to a bank every day," said the simple girl. "And if he warn't rich why should he have slipped me the five dollars?"

"True—very true," admitted Laura, much amused.

But she did not think it so funny that evening when, as the girls sat about a fire they had made in the open, singing and telling jokes, and Lizzie was washing up the supper dishes, a sudden shrill whoop arose from the cook-tent.

"Gee! what's that?" demanded the slangy Bobby.

"A mouse!" declared Nellie. "That funny girl must be just as much afraid of them as I am."

"I hope it's nothing worse than a mouse," Lil said, tremblingly.

Laura had sprung up on the instant and run to the cook tent. Liz had dropped a pile of plates, and some of them were broken. She had deposited herself stiffly in a campstool. Her body was quite stiffened and her eyes fairly bulged—and it was not easy for Liz Bean's eyes to bulge!

"What is the matter, Liz?" demanded Laura, seizing her by the shoulder.

"I seen him," gasped Liz.

"You have seen whom?"

"Him."

"But that doesn't mean anything to me," declared Laura, shaking her. "Who is he?"

"The feller I was tellin' you about. That feller that give me the five dollars."

"What?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" uttered Liz, solemnly. "He was standin' right yonder—just at the edge of them woods. I took the cover off the stove and the fire flashed out and showed me his face—just as plain!"

"You've been dreaming," said Laura, slowly.

"Git out!" ejaculated Liz, with emphasis. "I never fell asleep yet washin' greasy dishes—no, Ma'am!"

"Well!"

"I know what it means," Liz said, solemnly. "Yes, I do."

"What does it mean?" demanded Laura, doubtful whether to laugh or be serious.

"He's dead," said the odd girl.

"Dead?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"But why should he appear to you, even if he were dead?" demanded Laura, seeing that she must never let this superstition take root in the camp. "Do you suppose he's come to try to get his five dollars back?"

"My goodness to gracious!" said Liz. "No. The ha'nt of a man that owned a bank wouldn't come to bother a poor gal like me for money, would he?"



CHAPTER XII

THE "KLEPTOMANIANTIC" GHOST

The other girls crowded around then and wanted to know what had happened. Laura pinched Liz and said:

"She dropped those plates. Guess we won't make her pay for the broken ones, girls. Go on, now. I'll finish helping Liz wipe them."

So the matter of the "ha'nt" did not become public property just then. In fact, Mother Wit talked so seriously to the maid-of-all-work that she hoped the "ha'nt" had been laid, before they sought their cots that night.

But in the morning there was a most surprising sequel to the incident. The larder had been robbed!

"It can't be," said Laura, who heard of the trouble first of all when she popped out of the sleeping tent. Lizzie Bean had awakened Mrs. Morse and that lady—bundled in a blanket-robe—had come to the cook-tent to see.

"I ain't never walked in my sleep yet—and knowed it," stated Lizzie, with conviction. "And there's the things missin'——"

The remainder of the big ham, a strip of bacon, coffee, sugar, syrup, canned milk, and half a sack of flour were among the things which had disappeared.

While the three stood there, amazed, Bobby came. "Bet it was those boys," said she. "Playing a joke on us. They're over here somewhere."

The sun was just rising, and its early beams shone on the camp across the lake. Laura ran for the binoculars and examined the boys' camp. Both powerboats were there, and the five canoes. The boys were all disporting themselves in the water—Laura could count the six.

"If they did it," she said, "they got back to their camp very early."

"See this!" shrieked Bobby, suddenly.

She was pointing to the table, set as usual for breakfast. Pinned to the red and white checked table-cloth was a crisp ten dollar bill.

"Whoever robbed us paid for the goods," Mrs. Morse said, feebly.

"It was that ha'nt!" declared Liz.

At that the story of the man's face she had seen at the edge of the wood the evening before, came out. All the girls heard the story, and at once there was a great hullabaloo!

"A man on the island!" gasped Nellie. "I'm going home."

"Pooh!" said Bobby. "Liz says it's a ghost. A kleptomaniac ghost at that."

"He can't be a kleptomaniac, Bobby," said Laura, laughing, "or he wouldn't have left money for the goods."

"He's a kleptomani-antic ghost, then!" giggled Bobby.

"How ridiculous!" said Jess. "Whoever heard the like?"

"The fact remains," said her mother, "that some stranger has been here while we slept, and taken the provisions—and we shall have to get more."

"The ten dollars will more than pay for what's missing," said Laura, slowly.

"What of that?" demanded Nellie. "I don't like the idea."

Lizzie was somewhat flurried. "And me—I was sleepin' right behind that canvas curtain. Not again! never! I'm goin' back to town."

At this the girls all set up a wail. "Oh, Liz! you mustn't! You promised to stay! We're paying you good wages, Liz! Don't leave us to do all the work!" was the chorus of objections.

"Well! I ain't goin' to stay right here where that ha'nt can get me," declared Liz.

"But," put forth Laura, seriously, though her eyes twinkled, "you shouldn't be afraid of that haunt if he was such a nice young man as you say he was."

"Huh!" grumbled Lizzie Bean, practically. "No young man is nice after he's dead."

There seemed to be no answer to this statement. But Mrs. Morse came to the rescue.

"You can bring your cot into the cabin, Lizzie," she said. "You will not be afraid if you sleep there with me, will you?"

"No, Ma'am. I reckon not," admitted the girl.

"But how about us?" cried Lil Pendleton. "Surely, we won't stay here if there are men on the island?"

"It's big enough for them and us, too, I guess," said Bobby, doubtfully.

"Maybe the man—or men—who stole our food, is no longer on the island," Laura said, slowly.

"And they paid for it!" exclaimed Dora.

"Money isn't everything," said Nellie.

"What is?" demanded Bobby.

"Our peace of mind," declared the doctor's daughter, "is more important. I shall be afraid to stay here if there are strange men on the island."

"We'll settle that," Laura declared, with vigor, "and at once."

"How?" demanded Dorothy, wonderingly.

"Search the island," said practical Mother Wit. "Certainly not by sitting down and sucking our thumbs."

"Oh, Laura!" wailed Lil. "I wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't dare what?" was Laura's rejoinder.

"Hunt for those men on this island. Why! we don't want to find them."

"And I'd like to know why not? I don't care if they did leave money for the food they took——"

"But there must be something bad about them——"

"How do we know that, Lil?" asked Laura. "There is, rather, something good about them, or they would not have left the money for the stolen food."

"Dear Laura is right—as she almost always is," said Mrs. Morse, fondly. "A real thief at heart would not have left that ten dollar bill."

"An' I'm tellin' you that chap was the nicest one that lived at Missis Brayton's boardin' house," put in Liz, reflectively.

"What chap?" cried Jess.

"The ha'nt," said Liz, simply.

"Oh, dear me, Lizzie!" said Laura, in some disgust. "Don't keep that up."

"Well, then! If it wasn't his ha'nt, it was himself. Guess I know him," declared the girl-of-all-work.

"Tell me about it, please?" said Jess' mother, "You girls run and get your baths and we'll get breakfast."

"I—I don't want to leave the tent if there are thieves about," complained Lil, to whom the water looked just as cold on this morning as it had the day before. "I—I've got some jewelry in my bag."

"Very foolish," said Bobby, bluntly. "We told you not to bring anything to camp that you cared about."

"Gently! gently!" said Laura, the peacemaker, "Come on, Lil. Don't be afraid of either the kleptomaniantic thief, as Bobby calls him, or the cold water—neither will hurt you, I guess."

They had their plunge and that—or something else—stirred Mother Wit's "thinking machine." She said, as they trooped up to dress:

"We'll wig-wag the boys and bring them over. They will help us search the island. Besides, we shall need one of the powerboats to go for more food. It seems funny that a man who was willing to pay for what he took—and pay so well—did not go down to Elberon Crossing and buy at the store just what he took from us."

"He's an outlaw—a murderer, maybe, fleeing for his life," suggested Lil, tremblingly.

"Pooh! so are you!" scoffed Jess. "More than likely he is some lazy fisherman who did not want to go to the store—some rich fellow from the city."

"If Liz knows what she is talking about," said Laura, "it is a rich fellow from Albany. A Mr. Norman. And she told me last night that he was a great fisherman and hunter.

"But what under the sun," demanded Bobby, "should he take our food for?"

"You can't tell me it is anything as simple as that," Lil Pendleton declared. "He is a thief, just the same. And it as dangerous for us to be on this island with him. Why! I wouldn't stay another night—unless the boys were here to defend us."

"Ah! the cat is out of the bag," chuckled Bobby. "Lil wants Purt over here with his revolver," and then the other girls laughed and Lil got mad again.



CHAPTER XIII

THE SEARCH OF THE ISLAND

Laura dressed in a hurry and ran out with the flags. She took a slip of paper with her on which Chet had marked down the code, to refresh her memory, and at once stood out upon a high boulder and began to wave the "call flag."

Without the glasses she could not see what the boys were doing about their camp; but Jess came with the best pair of binoculars, and soon told her that the boys were evidently in much excitement. Chet appeared with his flags, and brother and sister carried on a silent conversation for some ten minutes.

"No, girls," Laura said, seriously, when she came down from the rock and led the way to the breakfast table. "Chet assures me none of the boys have been over here. They were coming right after breakfast, anyway, and will come in the powerboats."

"They know nothing about our loss, and Chet is impressed with the seriousness of the affair. I wouldn't let him think we were scared at all, but asked to borrow a boat so as to get more provisions."

"No! I should say not!" exclaimed Jess. "After what they said about our calling them, when they left us the other night, we don't want to give then a chance to laugh at us."

"Who'll go for the provisions to this Crossing you speak of?" asked Nellie.

"Oh, a couple of the boys. The others will help us search the island," Laura said, cheerfully.

"Make out a list of what is needed, Laura," advised Mrs. Morse, as she retired to her typewriter. "And be sure to get a bottle of peroxide. It's good for cuts, or mosquito bites, or any poison."

Not long after breakfast the two powerboats, the Duchess and the Bonnie Lass, were seen approaching. All the boys had come, and they were all very curious as to the raid that had been made upon the girls' pantry.

Purt Sweet had seemingly been transformed in the two days he had been "roughing it" in camp. He still wore the green knickerbockers, and the long stockings. The belt with its hunting-knife scabbard, was about his waist. And there was a suspicious bunch under his waistband that announced the presence of the ancient revolver.

However, Purt's mother would not have known his clothing, so stained, torn and bedraggled did his garments appear. The boys had made him do his share of the camp work. Chopping wood had made his palms blister, sparks had snapped out of the fires he had made and burned holes in his clothes, and hot fat snapping from the skillet had left red marks on his hands and face.

Having fun in camp was the hardest work Purt Sweet had ever done; but he was ashamed to "kick" about it before the girls. He came ashore to assure Lil Pendleton that he would do his best to find and punish the marauders who had raided the camp on the island.

"Whether the fellow paid for what he got, or not," Chet said, seriously, when he had heard the particulars, "we want to know if he is still here, and what he means by such actions."

"We must know that he isn't here, or I sha'n't want to stay," declared Nellie Agnew, who was really very timid.

"Leave it to us," said Billy Long, grandly. "We'll comb this island with a fine tooth comb——"

"You don't suppose we girls are going to let you fellows do it all, do you?" demanded Laura. "Of course we shall help, Short and Long."

"Aw! you'll tear your frocks and scratch yourself on the vines, and stub your toes and fall down, and make a mess generally," declared Short and Long, loftily. "Better stay here in camp and do your squealing."

"Well! I like that!" quoth Jess, making a dive for the short boy. She was considerably bigger than he, and catching him from the rear she wound her long arms about him and so held him tight.

"Take that back, Short and Long," she commanded, "or I shall hold you prisoner."

Short and Long found he could not get away from Jess, and finally stopped struggling. "I didn't know you thought so much of me, Jess," he said, grinning. "But it embarrasses me dreadfully, to have you hug me in public."

"Why!" laughed the big girl, "I'd think no more of hugging you, than I would your brother, Tommy—and he's a dear!"

"You'd think so if you had that kid around all the time," grunted Short and Long, as Jess finally allowed him to wriggle loose. "I think he's more of a terror than he is a dear."

"He takes it from you, then," laughed Bobby.

"Yep," said Lance, grinning, "it runs in Billy's family to be a cut-up—like wooden legs!"

"What's Tommy been doing now?" asked Dorothy Lockwood.

"Why, he is great chums with the kid next door, and they got into mischief of some kind the other day. The other kid's mother told them that if they did such things 'the bad man would get them.' 'Who's the bad man, Tommy?' our Sue asked him, and Tommy says:

"'Don't know. You'll hafter ask Charlie's mother. She's well acquainted with him.'"

"Come on, now!" exclaimed Lance. "Who's going to take the Duchess and go to Elberon Crossing for this bill of goods? We can't all go hunting for robbers."

"I shall stay here to help defend the girls, doncher know," stated Purt, swaggering about the camp. "But any of you fellows can take my boat."

"Spoken like a nobleman, Purt!" declared Chet, laughing. "Come on, now! Let's arrange how we shall sweep the island, from shore to shore."

But first it was agreed that Lance and Reddy should go with the Duchess for the new supply of food for the girls. They set off at once.

The island was a quarter of a mile across at its widest point. Even if the whole party entered on the search they would have difficulty in making so strong a human barrier across the isle that a fugitive in the covert could not escape through the line.

But Chet occasionally had a bright idea as well as his sister. He sent Short and Long—who could climb like a squirrel—to the top of a tall tree on the knoll. From that height he could see every opening in the wood, to the upper point of the island—which was nearly two miles long.

"Now we'll all go and beat up the brush and see if we can start anything bigger than a rabbit," Chet declared. "Spread out and try to push through the woods as straight as possible."

"We girls, too?" cried Nellie.

"Be a sport, Nell, and come along," urged Jess Morse. "We'll be in sight and call of each other all the time."

Which was true enough, as they soon discovered. Lil said it was her turn to help do the camp work. And of course neither Mrs. Morse nor Liz could go.

"Don't you think," Purt asked, seriously, "that one of us ought to remain here and defend—er—the camp?"

"Sure," said Chet, quickly. "We'll leave Art, if you say so. He rather admires Lil, too, Purt."

This made the dude keep still; but he did dislike this "manhunt" in the thick brush of Acorn Island.

After they had gone half a mile or so, and found nothing—not even a trace of anybody else having camped on the island—they all took the situation more cheerfully. They believed whoever had stolen the girls' food had already departed.

"Some of these fancy city fishermen, like enough," Chet declared, when they all came together at the western point of the island. "See yonder! there are two men in a boat, fishing, now."

"If they were the robbers they would not boldly anchor off there," his sister said.

"True enough, Laura," said Bobby. "I believe that whoever stole from us, is far away now. And everybody who comes to the lake knows that it is forbidden to camp on Acorn Island. The guides all know it."

"How about what Liz says about the man she saw last evening?" demanded Jess. "She says he was a man she knew in Albany."

"She had been talking to me about him," laughed Laura, "and I guess he was in her mind. Why should such a man come and rob our camp?"

"Well! it's a mystery," Chet said. "But I reckon you'll not be bothered again; the island seems empty save for ourselves."

But later they thought that they might have been a little more careful in searching the upper end of Acorn Island.



CHAPTER XIV

"MORE FUN THAN A LITTLE"

The girls were tired enough when they got back from the search; and it being an hour before dinner, Mrs. Morse advised them all to retire to the sleeping tent and lie down.

However, it was too sultry for that, and they chose to put on bathing suits and take a second dip to cool off. The boys had their bathing suits, too, and the party had twenty minutes of fun in the lake, with Mrs. Morse sitting on a rock in the shade and enjoying the pranks.

Lil's bathing suit was very resplendent, and so was Purt's. They were so much better dressed than anybody else that Bobby declared she was ashamed to be seen in their company—so she dove under the water.

The cut-up had the power of remaining beneath the surface a long time, and she crawled on the bottom to where Lil and Purt stood, waist deep in the water, without being observed.

Suddenly Purt yelled, dropped Lil's hand, and grabbed at the calf of his right leg. "A crab's got me!" he bawled.

"A crab in fresh water?" jeered Billy Long. "That's a new one!"

"It's one of those horrid snapping turtles!" shrieked Lil, and started for the shore. Not quickly enough, however, to escape Bobby's thumb and finger.

"It's that horrid Bobby Hargrew!" gasped Lil, seeing the black-eyed one shoot up from beneath, and take a long breath.

"Aw, Miss Hargrew!" begged Purt. "Don't bother us so. It's weally too bad of you."

"Then act human!" ejaculated Bobby. "Don't you two stand around as though you were fashion pictures in the magazines. Duck under and get your hair wet! You'll both get a sunstroke," and in passing them she managed to tip Lil right over backward—and that beautiful bathing suit never did look as well after it was all wet!

They had dinner before Lance and Reddy returned from their errand. It had already been agreed that the boys should stay all day at Acorn Island and not return to their own camp until after supper.

Occasionally one of them took a squint at the camp across the lake through a pair of glasses. But nothing disturbed that spot. Their tents were erected in a clearing at the edge of the water, and they knew there was not a human habitation on that side of the lake within five miles.

Elberon Crossing was at the head of Rocky River, but a good half mile from the water and landing, where a "tote-road" went through the Big Woods to the lumber camps farther west.

The Duchess was in sight of the girls' camp all the way from the landing on the south side of the river. On her return the party watched her approach, which was soon after the noonday meal.

"Hello!" ejaculated Chet, suddenly grabbing up the glasses. "They have a passenger."

"Who have?" queried Billy Long.

"Lance and Reddy. Crickey! who have we here?" and then Chet began to laugh uproariously.

He tossed the glasses to Short and Long. The latter looked at the motorboat for a moment, and then began to laugh, too. Some of the girls became interested, and they ran for their glasses.

There was a third moving figure in the boat. It sat up forward and seemed to be gazing on the island eagerly. The girls began to giggle as well as Short and Long.

"Hush!" begged Laura. "Don't say a word."

Purt and Lil were sitting together in the shade, and paid no attention to what was going on. Almost everybody on the island but themselves realized the identity of the third figure in the Duchess before the boat neared the beach.

Suddenly Purt gasped, and sat up straighter. He glanced all about and a sort of hunted expression came into his face.

"What's the matter, Mr. Sweet?" demanded Lil, in surprise.

"I—I thought I heard—Yes! I knew I could not be mistaken," said Purt, in horror.

"What is the matter?" demanded his companion, with some tartness. She did not like mysteries.

"I—I heard a dog bark," stammered Purt.

"Well! what if you did?"

"But on this—this island. Who—who could have brought the howwid cweature here?"

"Not that dog, Purt!" gasped Lil, suddenly remembering.

There was a hail from the crew of the Duchess. Again the sharp bark of a dog sounded.

Purt leaped to his feet. He glared down upon the approaching motorboat. Then he glanced around helplessly, as though tempted to run.

The Barnacle was fixed on his tail in the bow of the approaching boat, barking for all he was worth!

"Hi, Purt!" yelled Lance, standing up in the cockpit of the Duchess and bawling the news. "Here's your canine friend!"

Purt fairly groaned. Then he got mad and forgetting the girls were present, he blackguarded the jokers in the launch wrathfully.

"Oh, hush-aby! hush-aby, sonny!" begged Bobby. "You wouldn't do all that to Lance and poor little Reddy—would you really?"

"I'll get square with them!" stammered the dude, "and I'll kill that dog."

"Don't you bite him," warned Short and Long, "for if you do right now he will sure have the hydrophobia. Take it easy, Purt—cool and easy."

But the dude could not. The very sight of that laughing, ragged-coated dog made his blood boil. He hunted a club with which to meet the brute when he landed.

But Lance explained about the Barnacle before the Duchess came close enough for them to land.

"Why, there he was ready to meet us at the Elberon store," laughed Lance. "I found out that everybody along the Big Woods trails knows the mongrel. He had come up yesterday with a tote-team which was going into the woods.

"He welcomed Reddy and me as if we were his long-lost brothers. But it's Purt he wants to see—believe me!"

"I'll fix him!" threatened the dude, from the shore, and waving a club.

"Hold on!" begged Lance. "I have a better idea than that. I didn't bring the Barnacle along to be slaughtered to make a Sweet holiday—no, sir! What do you think about leaving him at the island here with the girls, Chet?"

"Great! he'll guard the camp," declared Laura's brother. "Nobody else will come around to steal grub."

"That's a good idee, Mister," said Liz, from the cook-tent. "The dog is wuth more than any boy to watch for us."

"Hear that, will you?" demanded Chet. "You girls have one fine suffragette in this Lonesome Liz, as Billy calls her."

"She's ripe for battle, when it comes to pitting the ladies against the mere male," laughed Laura. "We have found that out."

Against Purt's objections the Barnacle was allowed to come ashore. And the poor beast did seem so delighted to be among them again that they had not the heart to treat him badly. At least, nobody hated him save Lily and Purt.

Barnacle was fed hugely by Liz Bean, and had to lie down after it and sleep. So he did not disturb Purt during the afternoon.

The girls had agreed to get supper all by themselves. Liz and Mrs. Morse were to have nothing to do with it.

Bobby and Laura made cake. There were chickens to roast—two pairs of them—that Lance had thoughtfully bought of a woman at the Crossing. These were handed over to the tender mercies of Jess and Nell.

Now, Jess was a good cook; she did most of the housework at the Morse cottage. But when they had had chicken, the butcher always cleaned the creature before sending it home.

"My goodness!" sniffed Nell. "What do you know about taking a chicken apart?"

"Not—not much, I am afraid," admitted Jess, "And here are four of them! Well, we ought to learn a good deal about it by the time we have butchered all four."

"Ugh! I don't want to cut into them. And some of their insides are the delicacies of the chicken, while other parts are no good. Do you know one from the other, Jess?"

"I reckon I know the giblets—if I can once get at them," said Jess.

"Mother and I took our sewing machine to pieces once, and fixed it," Nellie said, "and that was pretty complicated. But we had a book of instructions——"

"They don't issue a book of instructions with a roasting chicken," Jess chuckled. "It's up to us, I expect——"

Then she called Lance. They had to admit a boy was good for something once in a while. Lance knew all about cleaning and drawing chickens, and he did that part of the work very neatly and with dispatch.

It being such warm weather the girls made dressing enough to stuff only two of the chickens. They got on bravely with their share of the work and were ready to put the chickens in the oven in the big dripping-pan when Laura's and Bobby's cakes were done.

Meanwhile Reddy and Short and Long had been very busy with the ice-cream freezer. The boys had brought over a can of milk and a big block of ice from the landing and Mrs. Morse had made the ice-cream. The boys froze it and packed it down in the shade.

Everybody began to get hungry early, for the odors from the cook-tent had been most delicious. As soon as the chickens and the baked potatoes were done, supper was served. Liz, in a clean dress and a clean apron served it.

Everything was fine except the chicken stuffing. There was something just a little queer about that; but what it was nobody seemed able to tell.

"I know I seasoned it with that same prepared seasoning of herbs that we use at home," wailed Jess.

"You must have left something out," said Nellie, despairingly.

Chet was tasting the dressing critically. "No," he said, without a smile. "I don't think you could have done that."

Jess brightened visibly. "Then it doesn't taste so bad?" she said, hopefully.

"There's nothing you could have left out, Jess, that would make it taste like this. It's something you've put in——"

Liz suddenly presented herself at the table shaking a box in her hand. "Was this what you took for seasonin' for that stuffin'?" she demanded, solemnly.

"Why—yes," admitted Jess. "That's the very box I always buy it in at our grocer's."

"Yep," said Liz. "It comes in that. But that's an old box I've had a long time, and there was lic'rish powder in it. I guess 'twon't hurt none o' yer; but I wouldn't eat much o' that stuffin'."

"Goodness!" murmured Jess, as the laughter broke out. "I thought that stuff smelt kind of funny when I shook it out of the can."



CHAPTER XV

THE BARNACLE HAS A NOSE

Aside from that single mistake the meal was declared to be a great success. The cake turned out a joy, and when it and the heaping dishes of ice-cream were brought on, the boys stood up and gave three cheers for the girls of Acorn Island Camp.

"But hold on!" exclaimed Chet, suddenly investigating his share of the ice-cream with a spoon. "I have been given a premium with my supply. Here! who has lost a perfectly good fly?"

"Alive?" demanded his chum, Lance.

"He can still crawl," admitted Chet.

"That fly's a perfect idiot," declared Lance, warmly. "It's the same one that was in the hot gravy a little while ago. I hope he takes a chill. What does he think this is—a turkish bath?"

They lingered long at the table, until finally Liz (who had agreed to "clean up") drove them all out of the tent. They finished the ice-cream (which Reddy and Short and Long declared had to be eaten up because there was not ice enough to keep it out in the open), with the light fading out of the western sky and the early fireflies flitting about the edge of the wood.

The Barnacle began to bark vociferously, all of a sudden. Lizzie, up at the lighted cook-tent, squealed.

Up rose the boys with a great whoop. "Go for it!" yelled Lance. "Sick 'im!" which seems to be the approved way to set a dog on anything living.

Barnacle was barking his foolish head off. He dashed across from the cook-tent to the woods, and then back again. The boys all urged him on. The girls ran together in a frightened group, Lil moaning:

"Oh, he's here again! that dreadful man is here again!"

"Hush you!" commanded Liz, in disgust. "'Tain't no man. 'Tain't even a ha'nt. I seen it. It's a black and white kitten——"

"Oh, Chet! call him off! call him off!" begged Laura.

"Quick, Chet!" added Jess. "Don't let that horrid dog hurt that kitty."

"Chetwood!" shrieked Laura again, knowing more about the inhabitants of the woods than her chum. "Chetwood! Stop it! Come back! That's a polecat!"

"What?" gasped all the girls, and then Bobby began to shriek with laughter. It was too, too funny—with Jess begging the boys not to let the Barnacle hurt "kitty."

It was impossible, however, to call the dog off the trail. That camp scavenger, the American skunk, is the mildest mannered little creature in the world—providing he is left strictly alone. Being timid and otherwise defenseless, God has given him a scent-sack which——

"Nobody can tell me that the skunk only brought a cent into the Ark," declared the exhausted Bobby. "That fellow has a dollar's worth himself!"

"Why—why did the Creator ever make such a horrid beast?" demanded Lil.

"You ask that and wear those furs of yours in the winter?" said Nellie, laughing. "The pretty little fellow that the Barnacle has so unwisely chased away from our vicinity is becoming very valuable to the furriers. There are people who raise the creatures for the market——"

"Excuse me!" gasped Bobby. "I'd want a chronic cold in the head, if I had to work on a skunk farm."

As Barnacle and his quarry went farther from the camp the odor that had risen drifted away, too; but for two days thereafter the girls could easily tell in which part of the island Barnacle was running game, by the way in which the odor came "down wind" to them.

Liz fed him at the edge of the wood; the girls chased him from the vicinity of the tents whenever he appeared.

The Barnacle did not mind much; for he had struck a dog-hunter's paradise. He was a fiend after small game and there had not been a dog on Acorn Island for some years, in all probability.

He was running and yapping all day and pretty nearly all night. How many groundhogs, chipmunks, muskrats, coons, and other small animals, besides the rabbits, he chased and caught there was no telling. Perhaps he did not kill one.

But he barked to his heart's desire and when he finally had driven everything to cover, he came back to the tents, purified in soul as well as in odor, and was willing to sleep during the day and sit up on his haunches at night (when they tied him to the corner of the cabin) and try to howl his head off at the moon.

The girls—even Lil and Nellie—lost their fear of a second visit from the mysterious "kleptomaniantic." Nobody would land upon the island to disturb them while that crazy dog was about.

So they fished, and swam, and picked berries, and hunted flowers and herbs, and went out sailing with the boys in the powerboats, and drove their canoes up and down the lake, having a fine time every hour of the day.

Mrs. Morse got on famously with her book, and allowed the girls to do about as they liked. They got into no mischief, however; but they all grew brown, and strong, and even Lily began to put on flesh.

At this season there were few fishermen at Lake Dunkirk. Some days there were long processions of barges sailing past the island, making for Rocky River and the ports down stream. And sometimes puffy tugs drew other barges westward, against the current.

None of the crews of these boats disturbed the campers. Acorn Island had been placarded for years, and it had always been necessary to get a permit to have even a picnic there.

Just one couple of fishermen came within range of the girls' vision that first week or ten days. And that couple, in their clumsy canoe, were never near enough for the girls of Central High to see their faces.

"I wonder where they camp at night?" said Laura thoughtfully one evening as she and Jess were paddling in for supper, being the last of the scattered girls to make camp. She had sighted the strange fishermen off the western end of Acorn Island again.

"Bet they are the fellows who took our food!" exclaimed Jess, suddenly.

"And have hung about here all this time? Nonsense!" returned Laura. "But don't let Lil and Nellie hear you say that."

"All right. But I bet they are."

"I'm more worried by that cloud yonder," said Laura. "We're going to have a tempest."

"Hope not till supper's over," said the hungry Jess.

"We'll peg down the tents to make sure as soon as we get in," said the careful Laura.

They did so. Half through supper the first drops of the storm fell. Then the thunder rolled nearer and a tall tree was riven on the mainland, within sight of Camp Acorn.

That pretty well settled the supper for most of the girls. Even the bravest had never experienced a thunder storm under canvas before.

So they all ran into Mrs. Morse's cabin. It did not seem so bad there.

In the midst of the downpour, however, and in a lull between thunder claps, Barnacle, who had been tied to the corner of the hut and had crawled under the floor for protection, suddenly broke out with a terrific salvo of barks. He rushed out into the rain and leaped at the end of his rope, barking and yelping.

"Somebody's about the camp," murmured Mrs. Morse. "The dog's nose—if not his eyes—tells him so."

"It's Liz," ventured Jess, for the maid-of-all-work had not come with them to the cabin.

Laura threw the door open, in spite of the flashing lightning. Lil shrieked and even some of the other girls cowered as the lightning played across the sky. But before the thunder burst forth again, Laura heard another sound—and it was not the Barnacle baying.

Lizzie Bean, in the cook-tent, was screaming in a queer and stifled way.



CHAPTER XVI

WHERE THE BARNACLE'S NOSE LED HIM

The rain descended in torrents before the cabin door. E'er Laura could plunge into it, Jess dragged her back and slammed the door.

"Don't be a goose, Laura!" she cried.

"She—she——Something is the matter with Liz," declared Laura.

"Of course not!"

"I tell you, I heard her. And there's the dog barking again."

"You can't go through that rain——"

"I will!" declared Laura, and she wrenched open the door once more. Jess could not hold her. Mother Wit plunged out into the storm.

Never having deserted her chum but once—and then involuntarily at a certain occasion long ago—Jess was not going to be behind now. She dove likewise into the storm.

The rain beat upon the two girls in a fashion to almost take their breath away. Never had they been so beaten by the elements.

They staggered, almost fell, clung together, and then bent their heads to the downpour and pressed on. The flickering lantern still illuminated the cook-tent. The awning was dropped and the canvas heaved and slatted against the poles.

The rain made so much noise that they did not hear Liz now. Or else, she had ceased crying out. Laura and Jess pressed forward and—it being but a few yards, after all, to the tent—they burst into the kitchen in a moment more.

"Liz! Liz!" gasped Laura, almost breathless.

There was a noise behind the fluttering canvas partition. Was it the girl in the sleeping part of the tent?

"Oh! somebody's there!" muttered Jess, clinging to her chum's hand.

Laura sprang forward and jerked apart the flap. She only feared that something was the matter with Liz.

And there was, apparently. She was crouching down, against the far wall of the tent, her hands over her face, and trembling like a leaf.

Afterward Laura thought over this scene with wonder. Lonesome Liz did not seem like a girl who would be so terribly disturbed about a thunder storm. She had shown no fear when the tempest began and the other girls had scampered for the cabin.

But now she was moaning, and rocking herself to and fro, and it was some moments before they could get a sensible word out of her.

"Oh! oh! oh!" wailed Liz. "I want to go back to town. I don't like this place a little bit—no, I don't! Oh, oh!"

"Stop your noise, Liz!" exclaimed Jess, suddenly exasperated. "You can't go back while it is storming so. And when it stops you won't want to."

But Laura was worried. She looked all about the tent. What had the Barnacle barked so about?

Nor was he satisfied now. The storm held up after a time; but the dog kept rushing out and barking as though he had just remembered that there had been a prowler about, and he had not had a chance to chase him.

Laura understood that rain, or wet, killed the scent for dogs and like trailing animals. This that had disturbed the Barnacle must have been a person who had come very close.

They took Liz to the cabin, and left her there after the storm was over and the six Central High girls went to their own tent. But although Laura did not say much about it, she was as dissatisfied as the dog seemed to be.

In the morning she was up earlier than anybody else in the camp. The grass and brush was drenched with the rain. There were puddles here and there. The sun was not yet up and it would take several hours of his best work to dry up the wet places.

Laura had not won her nickname of "Mother Wit" for nothing. She had inventiveness; likewise she had a sane and sensible way of looking at almost any mysterious happening. She did not get scared as Nellie did, or ignore a surprising thing, as Jess did.

Now she was dissatisfied with the outcome of Liz Bean's "conniption," as Bobby had termed it the evening before. The maid-of-all-work had shown no fear of thunder and lightning when the tempest began and the other girls were frightened.

Then, why should she wait until the storm was nearly over before showing all the marks of extreme terror? And, in addition, Liz seemed to be fairly speechless about the matter, whereas she was naturally an extremely garrulous person.

"Why did the Barnacle bark so?" demanded Laura, when she stood, shivering, in the gray light of dawn before the cook-tent. "Not just for the fun of hearing his own voice, I am sure."

The ground before the cook-tent was soft, and trampled by the girls' own feet. Laura went carefully around to the rear, stepping on firm ground so as to leave no marks.

There was a rear opening to the cook-tent—out of the part Liz had been sleeping in. But these flaps were laced down.

However, there were marks in the soft ground right here—footmarks that could not be mistaken. They were prints of a man's boot—no girl in the crowd wore such footgear as those that made these marks!

The boot-prints led right from the laced flaps of the tent toward the woods. Laura could see fully a dozen of the marks, all headed that way. The man had come from the inside of the tent, for there were no footprints showing an approach to the tent from this end.

"I knew that girl did not cry because of the thunder and lightning," was Laura's decision. "This man burst into the tent while she was alone. And for some reason she is afraid to tell us the truth about him.

"Of course, she hasn't really told a falsehood. She just let us believe that it was the storm that had scared her.

"Now, who is the man? Is she sheltering him because of fear, or for another reason?

"And what did he want? Why did he come to the tent in the storm? For shelter from the rain? Not probable. I declare!" thought Mother Wit, "this is as puzzling a thing as ever I heard."

She said nothing to anybody before breakfast about her discoveries. She did not wish to disturb Mrs. Morse, for that lady had come into the woods for a rest from her social duties, and for the writing of a book. Why should she be troubled by a mere mystery?

The detective fever burned hotly in Laura Belding's veins on this morning. From Jess she could not keep her discovery for long; but she swore her chum to silence.

Then she took Bobby Hargrew into her confidence. Despite the younger girl's recklessness, she was brave and physically strong.

"We're going to run down Lizzie's 'ha'nt,' if the Barnacle has a nose," declared Laura, after the trio had discussed the pros and cons of the affair.

So they loosened the dog, Laura holding him in leash, and slipped away to the woods when none of the other members of the party were watching. Laura knew that the scent would not lie very strong after the pelting rain; but they could follow the trail by sight for a long distance.

It led straight toward the far end of Acorn Island—the end which they and the boys had so carelessly searched the day after the larder had been robbed. Here and there they came upon the print of the unknown man's boots in the softened soil.

"Gee, Laura!" gasped Bobby. "Suppose he turns on us? We don't know whether he is a robber or a minister. What will we do when we find him?"

"That depends altogether upon what he looks like," said Laura. "Now hush, Bobby. The Barnacle is pulling hard; he really smells something."

"I hope it isn't another black and white kitten," chuckled Bobby.

They went down a slope to a small hollow, well sheltered by trees and rocks. There was a faint odor of wood smoke in the air.

"A camp," whispered Jess, having hard work to keep her teeth from nervously chattering, despite the heat of the day, "Who do you suppose is here?"

"We'll see," whispered Laura in return, and slipped the dog's leash.

The Barnacle ran down into the dale at once. The three girls followed, cautiously parting the branches. They came in sight of the fire.

It was the remains of a late breakfast-fire, without doubt. There was a single figure sitting at one side of the smoldering wood. Barnacle was running about the encampment, snuffing eagerly for broken bits. He paid the figure by the fire no attention, nor did the man look at the dog.

The man stooped, and his face was buried in his hands. He wore a shabby frock coat, and a disreputable hat.

"That's one of those two fishermen we saw in the canoe," whispered Jess.

"Wonder if you're right?" breathed Bobby.

Just then the man raised his head and turned so that the three girls from Central High could see his face. It was unshaven and the man looked altogether like a tramp. But there was no mistaking him for anybody but Professor Dimp, the Latin and history instructor of Central High!



CHAPTER XVII

A PERFECTLY UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW

"Goodness gracious!" gasped Bobby, the first to find her breath. She fell limply against Laura and Jess. "What do you know about that? Say, girls! Do you see the same thing I do, or am I going crazy?"

"Hush!" commanded Jess, hoarsely.

"Don't be ridiculous, child," advised Laura, rather sharply. "He will hear you——"

"Will that be a crime?" demanded Bobby, still in a whisper.

"It may be," said Laura, slowly. "We don't know why the professor is here."

"To commune with nature, I judge," said Jess, drily.

"I can't imagine Old Dimple communing with nature—not as a pastime," giggled Bobby.

"He surely has some good reason for being here," Laura murmured.

"We won't accuse him of robbing the camp that time, I suppose?" asked Jess. "Or being up there last evening in the storm?"

"That trail came this way," declared Bobby, suddenly forgetting to laugh.

"Barnacle's nose might have deceived him," said Laura.

"I haven't faith in much of that dog but his nose," declared Jess. "He showed particular intelligence in following the trail down here. Why should we suddenly suspect him of being foolish, just because we found what we didn't expect."

"Clear as mud!" exclaimed Bobby. "'Didn't expect' is good, however. If you had asked me a minute before we saw him, who was the most unexpected person to find at the end of our walk, I should have said Old Dimple."

"Why!" gasped Jess, "it couldn't be Professor Dimp."

"You mean he couldn't have been the kleptomaniantic thief?" chuckled Bobby.

Laura began to laugh softly herself. "Nor could he have been the person we—and the Barnacle—have been trailing," she said, suddenly.

"Why not?" demanded Jess and Bobby together.

"Did you ever notice Professor Dimp's feet?" asked Mother Wit.

"Horrors! No. Never saw him barefooted," said Bobby.

"Miss Smartie! His shoes, then?" proceeded the unruffled Laura.

"I—I——Why, no," admitted Bobby.

"Look at them now. He's not a big man, but he has plentiful understandings," chuckled Laura. "See?"

"Plain!" exclaimed Jess, peering through the branches.

"And those footprints we followed were of a person who wears a narrow, small boot. Small for a man, I mean. I don't believe the old Prof. ever could get into such shoes."

"Hurrah for Mother Wit—the lady detective!" cheered Bobby, under her breath.

"I am going to ask him——"

"What?" demanded Jess, half frightened as Laura started to press through the fringe of bushes.

"If he knows anything about that young man."

"What young man?" demanded the startled Jess.

"The young man who scared Liz last evening in the storm. The same young man who took the things from our camp—and left the ten dollar bill."

"The kleptomaniantic!" breathed Bobby, tagging close behind.

"Then it's the man who has been fishing with the professor?" gasped Jess.

"You've guessed it," said Laura. "They are together. This is a camp for two. You can see the fish-heads lying about. There are two tin-plates and two empty cups."

"Are you sure the—the old Prof was one of those fishermen we saw in the boat?" asked Bobby.

"I recognize that old coat and hat," said Laura, firmly. "I do not see why I did not recognize Professor Dimp, in spite of his disguise, before."

"Well!" sighed Jess. "I am thankful one of our fellow-inhabitants of the island is nobody worse than Professor Dimp."

"But why?" demanded Bobby, wonderingly.

"We'll find out what it means," said Laura, with more confidence than she really felt. Of course, she was not afraid of any physical violence. But the old professor was so terribly stern and strict that it took some courage to walk across the glade, where Barnacle was chewing fish-heads, and face the shabby old gentleman.

"What, what, what?" snapped Professor Dimp, rising up from the log on which he had been sitting. "Girls from Central High, eh? Ha! Miss Belding—yes; Miss Morse—yes; Miss Hargrew—yes. Well! what do you want?"

He seemed grayer than ever. His outing in the woods (if he had been here ever since school broke up) had done him little good, for he was wrinkled and troubled looking. His thin lips actually trembled as he greeted the three girls in characteristic manner. His eyes, however, were as bright as ever—like steel points. He looked this way when the boys had been a trial to him in Latin class and he was about to say something very sharp.

"We are sorry to disturb you, Professor Dimp," said Laura, bravely. "But we are in a quandary."

"A quandary, Miss Belding?"

"Yes, sir. Our dog has been following a man who came to our camp last night and frightened us. The dog led us right here to this spot. Have you seen him?"

"Seen the dog?" demanded the old professor. "Do you think I am blind?"

"I mean the man," said Laura, humbly.

"What does he look like? Describe him," commanded the professor, without a change of expression.

Laura was balked right at the start. She had no idea what the young man looked like, whom she believed Liz Bean knew, and whom she believed had come to the camp at the other end of Acorn Island twice.

"I only know what his boots are like," she said, finally, and looking straight into the old professor's face.

"Well, Miss?"

"I think you can supply the rest of his description," said Mother Wit, firmly.

"What do you mean, Miss?" snapped the old professor.

"He wore narrow boots, and his footprints lead directly to this place," said Laura. "Surely you must have seen him."

"Why should I?" demanded the professor.

"Because you have had a companion here. Two men made this camp—have eaten more than one meal here. Where is your companion, sir?"

"Miss—Miss Belding!" exclaimed the professor in a tone of anger. "How dare you? What do you mean?"

"I don't mean to offend you, sir," said Mother Wit, while Jess tugged at her sleeve and even Bobby stepped back toward the fringe of brush. The old gentleman looked very terrible indeed.

"I don't mean to offend you, sir," repeated Laura. "But that man has been twice to our camp. He has disturbed us. He was there again last night and frightened our little maid-of-all-work almost out of her wits. We have got to know what it means."

"You are beside yourself, girl!" gasped the old gentleman, and instantly turned his head aside so that they could not see his face.

"Liz calls him 'Mr. Norman,'" Laura pursued. "If you do not tell me who he is, and what his visits to our camp mean, I shall find out more about him—in Albany!"

Professor Dimp did not favor them with another word. He walked away and left the trio of girls standing, amazed, in the empty camping place.



CHAPTER XVIII

AN EVENTFUL FISHING TRIP

Jess and Bobby were both disappointed and disturbed over the interview with Professor Dimp. Laura said so little about it that Jess was really suspicious.

"Can you see through it?" she demanded. "What do you think the Dimple means?"

"I haven't the least idea," said her chum, frankly.

But there was another thought which Laura Belding was not so frank about. She spoke of this to neither Jess nor Bobby.

They agreed, as they went back toward their camp, with Barnacle, that they would take nobody into their confidence about the professor being up here at Lake Dunkirk, fishing. Suspicious circumstances had attached themselves to the old gentleman's presence here; yet the girls could not believe that Professor Dimp had anything to do with the raid on their larder, or the frightening of Liz Bean the evening previous.

However, Laura took Liz aside when they arrived at the camp and endeavored to get the truth out of her.

"Liz," she said to the sad-faced girl, who seemed gloomier than ever on this morning, "who was the man who scared you in the rain last evening?"

The maid-of-all-work did not look startled. Perhaps she had nerved herself already for just this question.

She merely stared at Laura unblinkingly and asked. "What, Ma'am?"

"Don't pretend that you don't know what I mean, Liz," said Laura, impatiently. "I found the man's tracks and the Barnacle found his camp for us. The man came right into this tent last evening in all that storm, and you let him out at the back and laced down the flaps.

"Of course, there was no harm in it. And there may be no harm in the man himself, or his reason for being here on Acorn Island.

"But if the girls hear of it—all of them, I mean—they are going to be scared again, and it will break up our outing and spoil all our fun. Now! I want to know what it means, Liz."

"Don't mean nothin'," declared the girl, sullenly.

"Why, that is no answer," cried Laura.

"Then there ain't none," said Liz, shrugging her narrow shoulders, and she turned to her work again.

"You absolutely refuse to talk to me about him?" demanded Laura, rather vexed.

"I ain't got nothin' to say," muttered Lizzie Bean.

"Then I'll find out about him in some other way. It is that Mr. Norman you spoke about before—I am sure of that. And I shall write to Albany and learn why he is up here and what he is doing. Of one thing I am sure: he has no business on this island frightening the girls. The island is private property and is posted."

If Liz was at all frightened by this threat, she did not show it. And, to tell the truth, it was an empty threat. Laura Belding did not know whom to write to in the city. She did not know the address at which Liz had worked there, and at which the mysterious Mr. Norman had been a boarder.

Some of the boys came over that afternoon and arranged with the girls of Acorn Island Camp to go fishing up the lake the next day. There was a certain creek, which came in from the north side, that was supposed to be well stocked with perch and trout.

"Part of it is posted, I believe," said Chet. "Some old grouch owns a fishing right on the stream. But we can keep off his territory. And we'll show you girls how to fish with a fly, and to use your reels."

"Teach us how to fish with mosquitoes—they're more plentiful than flies since the rain," Jess said, slapping at one which was just presenting his bill.

"Crackey!" exclaimed Billy Long. "You've got it good here. There are not many of the beasts on this island. But there's a swamp not far behind our camp, and it's a shame to call the things that come from that swamp, mosquitoes—they are more like flying tigers!"

"I suppose the old sabre-toothed tiger, of our prehistoric days, was no more savage than these swamp fly-by-nights," Chet laughed.

"Don't you have any other visitors over yonder?" Laura asked.

"Oh, say! we had some this morning. Did you hear the hounds baying?"

"Hounds?"

"Real bloodhounds," said her brother. "Sheriff's posse——"

"Hush!" gasped Laura, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Haven't you any sense at all? Want to scare Lil and Nellie out of their next five years' growth?"

"Wow!" muttered Chet.

"Shut Billy off, too. And then come and tell me all about it," commanded Laura.

Chet grabbed Billy by the collar and dragged him away from the girls. Then, after whispering to the smaller boy, emphatically, for a minute, he let him go and rejoined his sister.

"Now, what do you want to know, Sis?" he demanded.

"All about it," said Laura, eagerly. "Is there really a sheriff's posse hunting him?"

"Who's who?" asked Chet, in much amazement.

"Why—whoever they are chasing," replied Laura, rather blankly.

"Just curiosity?" Chet wanted to know.

"You can call it that," responded the girl, smiling whimsically at him.

"You never were just idly curious in all your life," declared Chet, grinning at her. "Well! the men were after that fellow who stole from the Merchants and Miners Bank of Albany."

"Oh!"

"They got wind of his being up this way. Somebody saw him, or thought he did. Crackey! Do you suppose he was the fellow who took the food from your tent, Laura?"

"Yes, I do," admitted his sister.

"Then he's far enough away from the lake now," said Chet, nodding. "That amount would have lasted him till he got over the Canadian border."

"Perhaps," said Laura. "At any rate, those dogs won't be able to follow his trail much after the hard rain of last night."

"Sure not," Chet rejoined. "That's what the sheriff said. He got us to promise to let him know at Creeper Station if we saw anybody who looked like Norman Halliday——"

"That's it!" gasped Laura, clapping her hands together.

"What's 'it?'" demanded her brother, wonderingly.

"His name."

"Of course it is. The fellow who stole the securities from the bank. They will get him of course."

"With bloodhounds? How terrible!"

"Not at all. They are muzzled. And friendly brutes, at that. They only follow the scent they are put on, and probably would do their quarry no harm, even if they were unmuzzled."

"Well, it seems terrible, just the same," murmured Laura. Then she added: "Suppose he was somebody we had an interest in, Chet?"

"Humph! that would be tough. But he isn't."

"Just the same, promise me something," urged Laura, clinging to his shoulder with both hands.

"What is it, Sis?" asked Chet, in surprise.

"Don't tell the sheriff if you should run across the poor young man. Don't tell anybody!"

"Why, Sis!"

"I have a reason. I can't tell you what it is," Laura said, half sobbing. "Will you mind me, Chet?"

"Surest thing you know!" declared her brother, heartily.

"And without asking questions?"

"That's putting a bit of a strain on me," laughed Chet. "But I know you must have a good reason, Sis. Only remember, when you want help, you haven't any friend like your own 'buddy.'"

"I know it, dear," said Laura, kissing him. "You are the best brother who ever lived!"

This was all "on the side." When they rejoined the others, neither Chet nor Laura revealed any particular emotion. The girls all promised to be ready for the fishing trip an hour after daybreak on the following morning.

Meanwhile, everything at Acorn Island went on as usual. Liz Bean seemed no more morose than before. Mrs. Morse was much too busy to notice small things. She had half-heartedly offered to accompany the girls and boys to Bang-up Creek for the fishing; but they had all assured her that it would be unnecessary.

Instead, they were to come home by mid-afternoon and all have supper at the island. The boys brought over a part of their own provisions, when they arrived in the bigger motorboat soon after sun-up.

Purt Sweet was the only boy who did not have a smile on; he looked gloomy indeed.

"What's the matter?" asked Jess.

"Surely he isn't afraid of the Barnacle, is he?" queried Dora.

"Don't bother about him," said Dorothy. "He's tied up, anyway, so as not to follow us."

"How do you think that dog can follow us, when we're going ten miles by boat?" demanded Reddy Butts.

"I don't know but the Barnacle would sprout wings and fly through the air after Purt," giggled Bobby.

"It isn't the dog this time that troubles Purt—deah boy!" drawled Lance Darby.

"What is it?" asked Laura.

"Purt's day is spoiled," declared Lance. "He has come off without his cigarettes."

"Cigarettes!" exclaimed Jess. "I thought we had shown him the folly of smoking coffin nails long ago."

"Oh, he doesn't smoke any," Lance returned. "But he always carries a case of them around with him. You know, he bought a thousand once with his monogram printed in gold on them, and he never will get rid of them all. He thought it would be a good thing to bring them to camp with him so as to use them for a smudge to chase off the mosquitoes."

"And they work all right," grunted Chet. "The smoke chases the mosquitoes, you can believe. But then, the smoke chases us, too. Purt's brand of cigarettes is made out of long-filler Connecticut cabbage."

"That's all right; don't make fun of the poor fellow," Lance said, with exaggerated sympathy. "Even if anybody had cigarettes to lend him, he couldn't smoke any with anothah fellah's monogram on 'em, don'tcher know, old top?"

But it came out that there was something else on Purt Sweet's mind. He had a very expensive rod, reel, and book of flies. And to tell the truth, he had never strung a line on such a rod, and did not know any more about using the flies than a baby in arms!

He hated to admit his ignorance, for the boys were not at all tender with the Central High dude. However, Chet and Lance were not ill-natured, and Purt plucked up courage finally to beg Lance to take him privately up stream (when they reached the creek) and give him a lesson in fly-casting.

Lance had already taken Laura under his wing—as was to be expected; but Mother Wit made him give Purt the assistance he needed. The three wandered up stream, far above the series of quiet pools where the other members of the party were casting for trout, or fishing for perch.

The trio passed a series of rapids, several rods long, and then struck a very beautiful stretch of calm water, with tree-shaded banks, and shallows where the cat-tails and rushes grew in thick clusters.

"I see a sign up yonder," Laura said to Lance. "Didn't you say a part of this stream was a private fishing preserve?"

"So I've been told. We won't go beyond the sign," said Lance.

He got Laura and Purt properly stationed and then cast, himself. They were having good sport and had landed several beauties, when Billy Long came idly up the stream on the other side.

"Hello!" he grunted. "Everywhere I go, there are girls. Isn't there a place where a fellow can get away from them and fish? They chatter so much that they drive all the fish into the mud, with their fins over their ears—that's right!"

"Horrid thing!" said Laura. "We can keep just as silent when we're fishing as any of you boys."

"Try it, then," advised Short and Long, gruffly.

He kept on up stream. "Look out there, Billy," Lance advised. "It's posted above there."

"Posted?"

"Yes. Don't you see that sign?"

"Huh!" said the smaller boy. "I never did believe in signs. And besides, it says there's no fishing here—and I believe it! I haven't had a bite all the way up this brook."

He went on a bit farther and cast his fly again. Quiet fell upon the long pool, where the shadow and sunshine lay in alternate blocks.

Suddenly there was a scrambling through the brush on the side of the stream where Short and Long was standing, and then appeared a big dog and a big man, the latter holding the former in leash. The man was just as ugly looking as the dog—and the Barnacle was a howling beauty beside this dog!

"Hey, you!" exclaimed the man to Short and Long—and he certainly did speak savagely.



CHAPTER XIX

THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE GUN

"Oh, dear, Lance!" gasped Laura Belding, in a whisper. "I am afraid Short and Long will get into trouble. That man looks perfectly savage!"

But the small boy did not seem to be in the least disturbed. He had just made a very pretty cast into the stream as the dog and its master appeared.

"Say! can't you read that there sign?" demanded the man, very red in the face. The sign really was plainly to be seen, and easily read. In large black letters it said:

PRIVATE NO FISHING ALLOWED

The angler looked at the sign on the tree unabashed and observed:

"I didn't notice it. You see, Mister, they taught me never to read anything marked 'Private.'"

"Well, it says 'No fishin' allowed,' anyway," snarled the farmer.

"But I'm not fishing aloud," came from Short and Long, who was perfectly serious. "That's what I've been kickin' about. The other folks down stream are making so much noise that they'd give every trout in the brook nervous prostration. I tell you I came up here especially to be quiet about my fishing——"

"You may think you're funny, youngster," interrupted the man; "but you're fishin' just the same, aren't you?"

"Not so's you'd notice it," declared Short and Long. "All I've managed to do so far is to give my fly a chance to swim. Haven't even had a rise."

"I'll give yer a rise, confound ye!" roared the man, coming with a rush through the bushes. "Git out o' there, an' git out quick, or I'll set this dawg on ye!"

Here Lance took a hand in the affair. He shouted across the stream:

"Have a care, there, Mister! If that dog is savage, don't you turn him loose."

"Who the dickens are you?" snarled the farmer. "This is my land, and it's posted, and this here is my dawg——"

"Let me have that pistol of yours, Purt," commanded Lance, firmly, reeling in his line.

The dude, who had stood open-mouthed and shaking, could not follow Lance's lead worth a cent. "You—you know, Lance," he stammered, "the pistol won't shoot——"

"Ho, ho!" cried the farmer, who had stopped abruptly when Lance had spoken. "Tryin' to scare me, was you? Now you step lively, or I'll let the dawg go."

"You poor sport!" gasped Lance, scowling at the shaking dude.

Short and Long, having tempted the fates far enough, was winding up his own line. And just before the fly left the surface of the water a trout jumped for it and caught the hook.

"Whee!" yelled Short and Long, as the line reeled out, singing shrilly.

"Stop that!" yelled the man. "That's my fish——"

"I can't help it," responded the boy from Central High. "I was reeling in, wasn't I? He came right up and jumped for my fly. Call off your old fish, if you don't want him caught on my hook and line."

But Billy Long was too saucy that time. He was playing the fish while he talked, just as well as he knew how. The farmer gave a yell, let the dog's strap run through his hand, and the beast, with an angry bay, dashed straight at the youthful fisherman.

Perhaps the farmer did not really intend doing such a cruel thing. For the dog would have torn Billy Long to pieces had he reached him.

There was a shout from across the stream—on the side where Laura stood—and a man leaped into the open. He carried a gun. As he reached the bank of the brook he threw up the shot-gun and erupted the contents of one barrel into the fore-shoulder of the angry dog.

The distance was scarcely two rods. The small shot peppered the dog well, and gave him a whole lot to think of beside grabbing a defenseless boy.

The farmer began to yell vociferously; the dog raised his voice even more loudly and, after falling and rolling over and over on the ground for a moment, he got to his feet and cut into the bushes like a flash. He was more scared than hurt.

"I'll have you arrested for that!" yelled the dog's owner, shaking both clenched fists at the young man with the gun.

"You'd better thank me that the beast did not grab that boy," was the reply.

The young man with the gun seemed perfectly calm. He was a pale-faced young man, well dressed in a hunting suit, and with narrow boots on his rather small feet. He was doubtless a city sportsman.

"I bet I know who you be, ye scoundrel!" bawled the farmer.

The young man turned away instantly. Laura saw that he flushed and then paled again. He did not stop to say a word to the party of young folk from Centerport. Instead, he stepped into the thick underbrush and was almost instantly lost to their sight.

Short and Long had hastened to get over the border of the farmer's posted preserve. But he had brought the trout with him—and it weighed a good pound and a half!



CHAPTER XX

LAURA KEEPS HER SECRET

They left the farmer threatening vengeance upon the strange young man who had used his shot-gun to such good purpose.

"That fellow's all right, whoever he is," Lance declared. "And how quick he was with his gun!"

"He knows how to use one," Short and Long agreed, with admiration. "I wish I could have thanked him."

"And this dummy here!" added Lance, with a look of disgust at Purt. "You had that old pistol in your pocket, didn't you?" he demanded of the dude.

"Ye-es," agreed Purt.

"Then if you had kept still about it, I could have scared that farmer into holding his dog in leash. Just as glad the brute was shot, though. He'll be tamed for a while, I bet!"

"It is too bad the dog was trained so badly," Laura said. "It is not his fault that he was taught to attack people."

"Well!" grunted Short and Long. "If he'd grabbed me, I reckon he'd have eaten me up before anybody could have helped."

"You had no business on that man's land," said Laura, admonishingly. "And you did sauce him."

"Ugh! who'd have thought he was so mean?" growled Short and Long.

"Bet you have a care next time," said Lance, grinning. "But who do you suppose that fellow with the gun was? I'd really like to meet him again."

"Good sort, whoever he is," Short and Long agreed.

"No farmer."

"Not much! He was city-dressed all right."

Laura listened to their comments, but said nothing. She believed she could make a good guess as to who the young man was; but she was keeping that secret to herself.

When she and the three boys rejoined their companions down stream, they had enough to tell about the adventure without declaring the identity of the young man with the gun. It was exciting enough to have had Short and Long almost "chawed up" by a savage dog, as Lance expressed it.

"And this useless piece of goods," he added taking Purt by the collar, "made a foozle—right off the reel! I could have scared that big bully easily enough if Purt had kept still about his old revolver being no good."

"I don't care," complained Purt. "The revolver would have been all right if you hadn't taken that screw out and thrown it away."

"And you'd likely shot yourself—or somebody else—by this time."

"No I wouldn't," said Purt, gloomily.

"How do you know?" asked Chet.

"Why—I find that when I bought cartridges for that pistol I got thirty-eights—and the pistol is a forty-five!"

The whole crowd laughed at that. Purt Sweet really was too funny for anything.

They got another good laugh on him before they went back to the island. There was a squatter's cabin near the bank of the brook and they trooped up there for a drink of cool milk, for the woman had two cows and was willing to sell the milk to them, right from her log buttery.

The woman's daughter—a girl about Lil Pendleton's age—waited on them. She was a brown-skinned, big-eyed, healthy-looking girl—a regular country beauty. Laura whispered:

"Isn't she a splendid creature?"

Purt had cocked an appreciative eye at her, and he murmured:

"Quite true—quite true, Miss Laura. She's as beautiful as Hebe," and gave the name of the goddess the very best pronunciation, according to Professor Dimp.

"Beautiful as he be?" drawled Chet, in exaggeration of bucolic twang, looking amusedly at the lank and lazy squatter himself who lay snoring on the platform before the hut. "Huh! she's a sight purtier than he be. Why, he's as humbly as a hedge-fence—an' ye can see, Purt, that the girl takes after her mother."

"It sure is too bad how they rig you, Pretty," laughed Jess.

"Pretty's all right!" joined in Billy Long. "Only one thing wrong with him. He starts easy, and he speeds up well, but just at the critical moment he always skids."

"Hear the motor talk from Short and Long! Yow!" exclaimed Reddy Butts. "And old Purt's not so slow at that!"

"Who said he was slow?" demanded Short and Long, with apparent indignation. "Bet you can't do him, Reddy."

"Bet I can—and for half a dollar, too," declared the youth with the radiant head of hair.

This was after the party had returned to the creek and luncheon was in order. The other boys saw that the red-headed youth and Short and Long had a scheme between them, and they sat back and prepared to enjoy Purt's discomfiture.

"You can't fool Purt in a hundred years," Short and Long reiterated, quite hotly.

"Can," returned Reddy, briefly, with his mouth full. "Got a half dollar, Purt?"

"What if I have?" demanded the dude, suspiciously.

"You put it under that mug on the table, and I bet I can take the money without touching the mug."

"You cawn't trick me," drawled Port. "You couldn't do that, you know, Reddy."

"Put your half dollar under the mug and see if I can't," chuckled the auburn-haired youth.

Thus urged, Purt did as agreed. He placed a half dollar on the table, and carefully covered it with an inverted mug that he had been drinking milk from.

Everybody was interested now and was watching the proceedings.

"Better put a napkin over it, Purt," advised Reddy. "For I'm going to fool you a whole lot!"

"You cawn't fool me, deah boy!" declared the dude, with growing conviction.

But he carefully covered the mug. Then Reddy, with a grin, reached under the rough table they were using and soon pulled his hand back with a half dollar in the palm.

The boys laughed, and wondered, and the girls were likewise puzzled. Purt looked both amazed and vexed. Then they began to laugh at him.

"Mighty easy way to make half a dollar," commented Reddy, slipping it into his pocket. "I told you I'd get it, Purt, without touching the mug."

"But you didn't do it, doncher know!" cried Purt, growing exasperated. "My half dollar is there."

He whipped off the napkin, lifted the mug—and Reddy, with a laugh, grabbed the coin that lay under it.

"I told you I'd get it without lifting the mug, Purt," he said, and the crowd burst into a chorus of laughter. Purt had been made the victim of the joke, after all.

It was all good fun, however. Purt could well afford the half dollar, and after a minute he, too, laughed.

They started back for Acorn Island in good season, with a nice string of speckled trout and some two dozen white perch—the promise of a splendid "fish-fry" that evening. On the way they passed the heavy canoe seen several times before on the lake.

There was but one man in it now, fishing; and he sat with his shoulders hunched up and his hat drawn down about his face.

"I wonder who that old man is?" Chet said, reflectively, as the Bonnie Lass sped by.

"Wonder where his camp is?" responded Lance, idly.

"He looks like a native," Reddy said. "If he's no handsomer than that squatter back yonder, I wouldn't want to see him any closer to."

Laura, and Jess, and Bobby looked at each other surreptitiously. They knew that the man in the canoe was Professor Asa Dimp, Latin teacher at Central High!



CHAPTER XXI

THE SHERIFF WITH HIS DOGS

Another evening melted into night, leaving in the minds of most of the girls of Central High now encamped on Acorn Island, a feeling of contentment and pleasure because of a well-spent day.

Their activities had been joyous ones; their fun and sport healthful; and nothing had really occurred to trouble their minds.