The
Y. M. C. A. Boys
on Bass Island

Or
The Mystery of Russabaga Camp

BY

BROOKS HENDERLEY

Author of “The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood,” Etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

Frontspiece

“STEADY NOW! KEEP HER HEAD STRAIGHT INTO THE WIND.”
The Y. M. C. A. Boys on Bass Island [Page 57]

BOOKS FOR BOYS

By

BROOKS HENDERLEY

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS SERIES

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS OF CLIFFWOOD;

or The Struggle for the Holwell Prize

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS ON BASS ISLAND;

or The Mystery of Russabaga Camp

(Other volumes in preparation)

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

Publishers New York

COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

The Y. M. C. A. Boys on Bass Island

CONTENTS

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS
ON BASS ISLAND

CHAPTER I
THE SCRUB BALL TEAMS

“A dandy drive, Peg!”

“Good for a two-bagger, any day!”

“Look at him cover ground, will you?”

“Nobody’d believe Peg limps when he walks, to see him hustle like that in a game of ball!”

“Look out, Peg, he’s going to get you at second!”

“Slide, Peg! Slide, old scout!”

Amidst a cloud of dust “Peg” Fosdick went down safely to second, the ball arriving just as he clutched the bag with his outstretched hand. Peg arose to his feet, brushed himself off, and waved a hand to his cheering mates on the side that was just then at bat.

Cliffwood boys were having a glorious time on the green devoted to outdoor sports. Still, after all, these were only two scrub teams; for, somehow, up to the present time the bustling mill town on the Sweetbriar river had never mustered up enough energy to put a regular representative nine worthy of support in the field.

Neighboring places, such as Creston, Emoryville, and Barrtown, boasted good teams, and the boys of Cliffwood often found themselves openly taunted on account of their lack of zeal in the matter.

“But things are liable to change from now on!” declared one of the boys on the bench, when casual mention of this lamentable fact was made. “It’s time Cliffwood woke up from this Rip Van Winkle sleep, and made its mark in the world.”

“That time is going to come right away,” asserted the pitcher of his nine, a vigorous lad, Dick Horner by name, and who seemed to be a leader among the boys.

“It’s as certain as can be, or my name isn’t Leslie Capes!” declared the catcher, who was Dick Horner’s most intimate chum.

“Well, Cliffwood,” observed a third youth earnestly, “is a far different town from what it used to be before Mr. Holwell, the minister, and Harry Bartlett, leader of our local Y. M. C. A., organized the Boys’ Department.”

“That’s what nearly every one tells us, Elmer,” returned the sanguine Dick. “And by the coming fall we hope to be able to put a decent football squad in the field, to stand for our home town.”

“I’m mighty glad to hear that, Dick!” exclaimed still another of the players, Phil Harkness by name. And then raising his voice to a shout he went on to say: “Three balls and two strikes, Andy! Make Nat put the ball over, and meet his fast clipper for a homer!”

Almost immediately following the giving of this advice came the crack of the bat as it caught one of Nat Silmore’s speediest balls “on the nose.” The boy on second sprinted for home because he knew that was the play, there being already two out.

Away out in deep center Alonzo Crane made a vigorous effort to get the swift liner. He was coming in on a gallop, hoping to take the ball in his outstretched hands before it could touch the ground.

The onlookers saw Alonzo fairly hurl himself forward in a gallant attempt to make the spectacular play. Then he fell, rolled over several times, and arose finally with the ball held triumphantly above his head.

Nat and his side emitted a roar of applause, and with wild whoops started toward the home plate, as though that play ended the inning.

“Keep on running to second, Andy!” yelled Leslie Capes, excitedly. “He dropped the ball, and snatched it up again off the ground!”

“Sure he did! I saw him do it!” added Phil Harkness, indignantly, for there were several players on the opposing side who, like Nat himself, in times gone by, had been known to attempt just such sly tricks as this; and Alonzo was one of them.

“Aw! what are you givin’ us?” shouted Nat, with one of his old-time bullying frowns. “That was the greatest play ever seen on these grounds! He snatched the ball right out of the air before it ever touched the ground. And he held tight through all his tumble in the bargain. Your man is out, Dick Horner, and you know it, too!”

There threatened to be a furious dispute, which would break up the game; for each side acted as if determined to hold its ground. Fortunately, just at that critical moment a gentleman came sauntering along and approached the squabbling ball players, whose voices were mingled in a warm discussion, while all sorts of accusations were flying broadcast.

“What’s the trouble, boys?” asked the gentleman, who, to judge by the cut of his coat, was a minister.

The clamor ceased immediately. Even the turbulent Nat shrank back a little, as though unwilling that the Reverend Thomas Holwell should see one of his old-time frowns on his face, for Nat was supposed to have broken away from his former life, and to be marching along the narrow road nowadays.

“Why, it’s this way, Mr. Holwell,” explained Dick, himself quieting down considerably, for the minister was known to be the best friend the boys of Cliffwood had, and his unexpected appearance had cooled their ardor as nothing else could have done. “We say Alonzo dropped that liner and snatched it up again, which wouldn’t count for an out. Nat and his side all say he held it tight. So we’re up against a hard proposition, because neither side will give in.”

“Oh! I think I can settle that dispute easily enough,” said Mr. Holwell, with a cheery smile. “You see, I was taking home this pair of opera glasses for my wife, after having had them repaired. As I came along I chanced to be testing them, and as luck would have it, I followed Alonzo as he ran forward to take that liner.”

“Yes, sir!” said Dick, eagerly. “And if anybody could know just what happened at the time he rolled over you should, I guess.”

“Alonzo did drop the ball, though he snatched it up instantly,” said Mr. Holwell. “I saw him do it distinctly. Of course he is just trying to have some fun out of the occurrence. Isn’t that so, Alonzo?”

The boy in question turned fiery red, and his eyes fell under the steady gaze of the minister.

“That’s what I was doing, Mr. Holwell,” he finally managed to say, with a nervous little laugh. “I knew there was a fine chance to have some fun teasing the other side, and I tried it. But I dropped the ball, all right. I did my best to hold on to the crazy old thing, though.”

Dick and Leslie exchanged glances. They felt pretty certain that only for the opportune arrival of Mr. Holwell, Alonzo would have stuck to his story through thick and thin. Nat shrugged his broad shoulders, and looked disgusted at such signs of what he would call weakness.

“Oh! well, if he owns up, of course the play goes,” he remarked, with a sneer, and an ugly glance at Alonzo. “Get back in your places, fellers; and Peg’s run goes. Andy, take second, and count yourself mighty lucky. Anyhow, the rest of us really believed he held it tight.”

Mr. Holwell presently left the scene of action and walked on, with a serious expression on his face. Some time before he and the young man who served as leader to the town Y. M. C. A. had organized a Boys’ Department, which gave promise of doing a vast amount of good among the younger element in Cliffwood.

There had been more or less trouble with Nat Silmore and several of his followers, although just at present they seemed to be getting on pretty well. Mr. Holwell knew boys “like a book,” however, and from the little incident of the day he feared the “snake was scotched, not killed,” as the saying has it.

While the boys are continuing their game after the sudden dispute had been settled by an umpire whose decision none of them ventured to question, a few words concerning Dick and his comrades may not come in amiss, especially to such readers as may not have read the preceding volume of this series, entitled, “The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood.”

Dick Horner lived with his mother, grandfather and little sister Sue in a neat cottage close to the bank of the Sweetbriar river. They had been barely able to get along on the veteran’s pension and the proceeds from a small investment. Suddenly bad news reached them to the effect that part of their little property had been swept away.

As has already been related in the previous story, a splendid thing happened for the Horners, and they were now comfortably fixed, so that Dick need not worry concerning his future.

Some of his friends were Leslie Capes, Dan Fenwick, Phil Harkness, Elmer Jones, Andy Hale, “Peg” Fosdick, “Clint” Babbett and Fred Bonnicastle.

Among the new members of the Boys’ Club was Asa Gardner, a boy whose reputation had not been very good in times past, for he had always been called “light-fingered,” being prone to take things that did not belong to him. His mother, whom Asa dearly loved, had died not long before, and the boy was said to have solemnly promised her at the last that he would never again surrender to his strange weakness that had amounted to what is called “kleptomania”—an itching to take the property of others when an opportunity arises.

Some of the boys were doubtful as to Asa’s ability to overcome his faults; but Mr. Holwell stood by the lad, and stoutly backed him up. Dick, too, had a certain amount of faith in Asa, for reasons of his own, in spite of the fact that Dan Fenwick, who was more skeptical, had more than once urged him to “keep an eye on that Asa.”

Dick had been enabled to do Old Jed Nocker, the richest merchant in Cliffwood, a great favor, whereby he found happiness in the possession of a grandchild, little Billy, together with his only son’s widow, Tilly Nocker. Since that time Mr. Nocker had lost much of his former cynicism regarding boys in general, and found numerous opportunities to stretch out a helping hand to the growing Junior Department of the local Y. M. C. A.

It was the unexpected home coming of Silas Langhorne, a brother of Mrs. Horner, from the Alaska gold fields, that had brought contentment and peace to Dick’s family. That was a strange and dramatic homecoming, for an account of which the reader is referred to the previous volume of this series. These summer days were happy ones in the Horner cottage, and little seven-year-old Sue, Dick’s sister, went singing about all the time.

The boys had settled down once more to their game, and the greatest interest was seizing upon them, with the score a tie, when all of a sudden Phil Harkness, out in center field, was seen to be waving his arms excitedly as he gave vent to a series of shouts.

“Hey! look yonder!” they plainly heard him calling. “See all that smoke, would you? It’s Bratton’s barn afire!”

CHAPTER II
AN INVASION OF PIGS

There is nothing under the sun capable of exciting a crowd of lively boys as much as a fire. Consequently when the ball players saw the smoke pouring from Bratton’s barn they instantly forgot all about their game, even with the score a tie, two out, Dick to the bat, a runner on third, and but a single hit needed to win for his side.

Helter-skelter they ran toward the scene, most of them shouting “Fire!” as they went, and thus increasing the already growing confusion. The clang of the suspended locomotive steel rim struck by a hammer added to the din. People came running from every direction toward the Bratton place, about which a crowd had already collected.

HELTER-SKELTER THEY RAN TOWARD THE SCENE.

Silas Bratton was a character in Cliffwood. He had always been at odds with everybody in the town, and seemed to delight in annoying others. There are just such contrary people in nearly every community.

For one thing the man persisted in keeping a host of small pigs about his place. The authorities made him confine them, but even at that they were a constant source of trouble to the neighbors; which was apparently just what Mr. Bratton wanted. He was always in some sort of lawsuit with people, but, possessing means, he hired the best lawyers, and usually came out of the affairs victorious.

“Wonder how it started?” gasped Leslie, as he ran alongside Dick and Dan.

“Huh!” grunted Dan, always suspicious, “wouldn’t surprise me one little bit if somebody just set it going. You know how they detest Bratton, and lots of people will laugh themselves sick if his barn—yes, and house too—goes up in smoke.”

“Better not say that again, Dan,” cautioned Dick. “It might get you into a peck of trouble if some friend of Bratton’s chanced to hear you.”

The boys soon reached the scene of excitement. The smoke was pouring out of the barn worse than ever. Perhaps it was a case of spontaneous combustion, for oily waste and rags often take fire, especially during the warm summer months. No one seemed to be bothering his head as to what had caused the fire; it was enough for all to see that the tongues of flame had commenced to spit through the billowing smoke, showing that the conflagration was becoming serious.

When eighteen lively boys are suddenly brought upon the scene, something is apt to be doing. Nat and a few of the others began immediately to see a fine chance to have some fun out of the affair.

“Hey! let’s try to throw some water on the fire, fellers!” shouted Nat; but those who knew him best surmised that it was the hope of finding a chance for a prank rather than a desire to assist in saving Mr. Bratton’s property that urged him on.

There was a rush forward, and many of the boys started to scale the fence. One of the gates was thrown open, and immediately several squealing pigs commenced to run down the road.

“Hi! shut that gate again, you fools!” shouted the owner of the premises, who, in his excitement, was running back and forth, starting to do one thing and then changing to another. “D’ye want to let all my valuable pigs break away?”

“Here come the firemen on the run!” a voice was heard to call out, one of the boys perched on top of the high fence being the alert scout to convey the news.

Cliffwood firemen had made a good reputation for themselves in times past. It was a volunteer department, but they owned a good engine, as well as a hose cart and a ladder truck.

Galloping horses brought them quickly to the scene of the fire. When they learned whose barn was in danger of being burned down, some of the members of the department may have felt loath to work as hard as usual, for they detested Mr. Bratton.

The foreman, however, who was the town blacksmith, would not allow any shirking on the part of his followers. So the hose was run out, the engine started up, and it was not long before a stream of water began to fall upon the smouldering hay that had been the main cause of the smoke.

Meanwhile, as seems necessary at all fires in country towns, some of the men began to chop at the sides of the barn, and smash in the windows—“to let the smoke out, and give the men who handled the hose nozzle a chance to play on the seat of the fire,” it was explained. Many who witnessed these energetic labors, however, could give a good guess that there were other things back of the professional instinct.

While all this was going on, more and more of the grunting and squealing pigs managed to get away, despite the apparent frenzied efforts of the fire fighters to prevent their egress. They were darting this way and that in every direction. Some ran between the legs of the spectators, and girls screamed in real or imaginary terror as the agile and alarmed little pigs appeared in their midst.

As the fire was already diminishing in vigor, and gave promise of proving a disappointment so far as spectacular effect went, the boys seemed bent on finding some outlet for their activities in chasing wildly after the noisy little beasts, that usually eluded capture in a remarkable way.

Many were the loud shrieks of laughter that arose when some one plunged forward with outstretched hands, only to clutch thin air as the active pig suddenly doubled, and eluded his grasp.

Dan had taken after an old sow that was giving vent to loud and ominous grunts while running in a zigzag manner among the crowds. He must have tripped at a critical second, for suddenly Dan was seen astraddle of the broad-backed animal, trying to keep from tumbling, and evidently much surprised at finding himself having a ride.

However, Dan soon tumbled off, selecting a soft spot for the feat, and arose to his feet not much hurt by his adventurous ride. Boylike, he immediately decided to stick to it that he had carried the trick through purposely, to show what a fine rough-rider he would make.

About this time Elmer Jones tugged at the sleeve of Dick’s coat.

“Look at Nat and his bunch, every one of ’em trying to corral a squealing porker,” he called out. “I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve? I heard Nat tell Dit Hennesy he wanted every fellow to get a pig apiece.”

“Oh! I shouldn’t be surprised if they expect Bratton’ll be offering a reward for the safe return of his ugly pets; and it’ll be easy money for their crowd,” remarked Leslie; and then burst into a roar of laughter when one of the boys in question stumbled and fell flat, to have a whole drove of the pigs scamper directly over him.

Dick and his chums would only too gladly have assisted in putting the blaze out, because it would have been great fun for them. They had done something of the sort not a great while back, when the house next to that of Mr. Nocker had caught on fire, and precious lives were placed in peril.

In the present instance it happened that there was really little or no chance to play the part of heroes. The gallant fire fighters poured enough water on the already damp hay to smother the last spark, and in order to feel in part repaid for their lively run in the heat of the afternoon were doing more or less smashing around. They felt confident that all damages would be settled by the fire insurance companies with whom so careful a man as Mr. Bratton undoubtedly held policies.

Mr. Bratton, indeed, seemed to be more concerned about the disappearance of some two dozen of his pigs than any damage his barn had sustained. Perhaps this was because the animals were not included in the insurance; or it might be he suspected the fire to have been part of a plot on the part of disputing neighbors to rid themselves of a pest.

“Here, bring those pigs back to this other building! Do you hear me?” he was shouting to some of the people who had managed to secure a few of the alarmed pigs, though it was all they could do to hold them.

They resented the tone of authority conveyed by his manner and words, and on that account two men immediately released their prisoners.

“Take them yourself, Silas Bratton!” called out one of these. “Since when have we been in your employ?”

“Drat the pigs!” said one woman, with an expression of disgust on her face. “When I first heard it was Bratton’s place that had caught fire I began to hope I’d smell roast pork. But it seems the whole nest of ’em must have come through scot-free. They’ll be chasing all over town.”

“Glad of it,” said another neighbor, smiling broadly. “I wish some bad spirit would enter into the drove, just as it did long years ago in Palestine, and cause the beasts to run down into the river to be drowned. It’d be a good riddance of rubbish, say I!”

The excitement was gradually dying out. Some of the escaped pigs had been recovered, but many of them had vanished. Perhaps strays would be picked up here and there around Cliffwood for some time to come, especially if the crusty owner thought fit to offer a reward for their return.

“I guess our game is all knocked to flinders by this riot,” remarked Leslie, as he stood and watched the firemen finish the last stroke of their business by turning the stream of water into a hole that had been cut in the side of the barn.

“Oh! we couldn’t get the boys together again after this!” declared Peg, who was one of the group. “Three of the other side have disappeared—Nat, Dit and Alonzo Crane. And say, let me tell you, every one of them had a pig in his arms the last I saw of them.”

“That’s right,” added Dan; “and running off with the same in the bargain. I wonder what’s in the wind? If they were meaning to camp out soon I’d guess you’d get the smell of roast pork if you happened to stroll near their hideout. But anyway, when it comes to playing all sorts of practical jokes, Nat takes the cake.”

“There’s something up, you can depend on it,” asserted Leslie, firmly. “We know Nat too well to believe he just wanted to save those porkers for Mr. Bratton. Keep your eye on Nat, and you’ll hear something drop before long.”

“Oh! bother Nat anyway,” said Peg; “he’s always doing something to keep himself in the limelight. What interests me more than any of his capers just now is trying to guess where we’ll land about that summer camp we’re thinking of starting next week.”

“Well, we may have some news at the meeting to-night,” explained Dick, “because Dr. Madison promised to run over and see about that Morley Camp Mr. Holwell thought would suit us in every way.”

“I was hugging some hope to my heart we might get a chance to go up to Lake Russabaga,” grumbled Dan. “Somehow I’ve always hankered after that place since the time we ran up there on our wheels and stayed one night, camping under the hemlocks.”

“It is a dandy place, all right,” admitted Dick. “For one, I’d like to spend a week or so up there on Bass Island. But there isn’t much chance of our getting there on this trip, I’m afraid.”

The fire being now a thing of the past, the boys started for home. The last they saw of Mr. Bratton he was counting his pigs, and declaring he would have the law on any one found guilty of trying to harbor one of the escaped animals. More or less sly laughter was being indulged in by the spectators, who seemed rather well pleased at the calamity that had befallen their quarrelsome neighbor.

“You see none of the other nine has showed up to finish the game,” remarked Dick, shortly afterwards, as they neared the ball ground; “so we’ll have to call it a draw. See you this evening at the meeting, fellows. So long!”

CHAPTER III
THE BOY WHO HAD PROMISED

One night a week the boys comprising the Junior Department of the local Y. M. C. A. held a meeting in the room in the building Cliffwood’s citizens had presented to the organization that was doing so much good work for young men in the community.

On certain afternoons they were also allowed free use of the gymnasium. A comparatively new swimming pool was enjoyed by many after they had exercised. Then there was a bowling alley, and some of the more expert among the boys ran up pretty high scores.

On the night after the ball game on the commons and the fire at the Bratton barn, the boys commenced gathering before the time appointed for the special meeting to take place. Little knots talked seriously as they came together, for it was known that Dick meant to bring with him a report of the success or failure attending their efforts to secure the camping grounds owned by a Mr. Marley on the small lake named after him.

“Some of you fellows,” Dan Fenwick was saying to a group around him, “who didn’t happen to be at the ball game to-day will be interested to know that Dick says we’re going to have a football eleven this fall, to try to hold up the honor of Cliffwood with the rest of the towns around this end of the woods.”

“Glad to hear that, Dan!” exclaimed one lad, warmly.

“Always said we ought to do something to show our colors,” added another. “And it’s come all because of Mr. Howell and his scheme for getting up this Boys’ Department of the Y. M. C. A. That’s done the trick! You don’t run across many fellows loafing on the street corners these nights. They’d rather be in here reading the magazines, or taking part in some of the things that are going on every little while.”

“And there’s no reason,” a third went on to say, boldly, “why Cliffwood shouldn’t have a hockey team, and a cracking good baseball nine next season, to boot. We’ve got the stuff all right. With good backing we might even hope to fetch a trophy home with us once in a while.”

“There’s Mr. Bartlett, going to call the meeting to order,” remarked Dan.

At this speech every one of the boys settled down in a seat; for these meetings were usually conducted with as much decorum and order as those carried on by the older members of the Y. M. C. A. organization.

Harry Bartlett usually presided at these gatherings of the boys’ club, but he took pleasure in frequently turning the meeting over to Dick, who had been duly elected to the office. This evening as soon as the meeting had been called to order he asked Dick to take the chair.

The secretary was just beginning to call the roll when there came a series of squeals and grunts. At the same time three small pigs were seen running wildly about the room, creating much excitement as they darted back and forth under the chairs and amidst the legs of twenty-odd boys gathered there.

Every one knew that Nat and his two cronies had liberated the pigs, for they were standing in the doorway and laughing heartily at the frantic efforts of the boys to catch the dodging pigs. All thought of business was suspended until this duty had been accomplished, after which the offending pigs were summarily ejected from the building.

Nat pretended to feel sorry over it.

“We meant to lug the little critters over to Mr. Bratton’s house,” he went on to explain, “to find out if he meant to offer a reward for their safe return. But now they’re loose again, and in the night nobody could ever catch the slippery imps. We were goin’ to stop in and let you know we’d be back this way before long, when they broke loose on us. But it’s all right anyway, and no damage done, I reckon.”

Of course every one knew the incident was intended to be one of Nat’s famous practical jokes, but since the excitement had now died down, and Mr. Bartlett said nothing to the contrary, Dick concluded to forget it.

“The meeting will again come to order,” he called out, vigorously rapping the table with the gavel, borrowed from the seniors. “The secretary will start over again with roll call.”

This duty having been carried out, the regular business of the meeting was next in order. It could easily be seen that all of the boys present displayed more or less anxiety to hear the reports of certain of the committees.

“I’ll ask the vice-president to occupy the chair while I make my report as the committee of one to call on Doctor Madison and find out what our chances are of getting Camp Marley.”

When Dick made this remark he vacated his seat, Leslie taking his place temporarily. Every boy present leaned forward and glued his eager eyes on Dick.

“It isn’t just the thing for the presiding officer of an organization,” began the one who was on his feet, “to act on a committee; but in this case it happens that I started the business with Doctor Madison, and he asked me to drop in and see him this evening when on the way here. He went out to Mr. Marley’s this afternoon as he expected. I’m sorry to tell you he brought back bad news for us.”

Some of the expectant ones emitted groans at hearing this.

“It’s all off, then,” said Dan Fenwick. “I just thought things would fall flatter than a pancake when the Cliffwood boys started to do anything worth while. It’s hard luck, that’s what. We’re pursued by a hoodoo, I believe.”

“Go on and tell us the worst, Dick!” urged Peg Fosdick.

“Yes, we can stand it all right, I should say,” added Elmer Jones, grimly. “P’r’aps one knock-down may make us wake up, and think of some other way of spending our summer vacation.”

“Mr. Marley sent word that we had made our application just three days too late,” continued Dick, smiling sadly. “He’s promised the camp on his lake to a party of fellows coming over from Emoryville. They belong to the scouts there, I understand, and mean to stay most of the summer, doing all sorts of stunts.”

As this meeting had been called especially to learn about the result of their effort to secure a good camping ground, interest began to subside as soon as Dick had made his depressing report. Most of the boys looked gloomy. They had been counting so much on this outing that their disappointment was keen.

“Remember this doesn’t mean that we’ve got to give the scheme up altogether,” Dick told a group around him after the meeting had been hastily adjourned. “There are more places than Lake Marley that can be used for camping, though we’d like it a heap better if we could be near the water. Let every fellow hustle, and try to get track of another good site, so as to report to-morrow night when we have our regular meeting here.”

Even Nat looked troubled, for he, too, had counted on having the time of his life, if once the boys of the junior organization found themselves in camp. Nat was always looking for new opportunities to play some of his jokes, and he believed he would find many splendid chances under the novel surroundings of camp life.

Asa Gardner walked part way home with Dick on this night, and Leslie soon caught up with them. Asa was a pale lad who needed outdoor exercise very much. He had been greatly depressed by the fact of their failure to obtain permission to camp on the shore of Lake Marley.

“Oh! you don’t know how much I’ve been counting on getting a week or two out in the open air,” he confided to Dick, as the three of them walked along. “And besides, you promised to show me a whole lot of things about living in the woods that I’d just love to hear about, Dick. My mother told me I ought to stay outdoors all I could, for you know I once had an older brother who died from lung trouble.”

“Well, don’t give it up yet, Asa,” Dick told him. “Some of us are not going to throw up the sponge so easy as all that. Wait and see what can be done. I’m glad that you seem to be enjoying the club. Mr. Holwell takes a lot of interest in you, I notice. He told me only yesterday that he expected to see the day when you’d be up among the leaders, after you got well started.”

“Mr. Holwell is the best man living,” said Asa, warmly. “When he’s talking to me I just seem to feel that I could do anything in the world to please him. He makes you see things the way he does. If I ever do amount to a row of beans it’ll be through Mr. Holwell, and not because it was in me.”

“You’re wrong there, Asa,” said Dick, kindly. “It’s got to be in you first of all, but he knows just how to draw it out. And any fellow who does things the way Mr. Holwell advises is bound to climb the ladder, as sure as he lives.”

Asa left the others soon afterward, as his home lay in a different direction.

“I don’t know just what to make of that chap,” said Leslie, as he and Dick continued on their way. “He used to be the sneakiest fellow going, and was always getting things in his pockets that belonged to others. Just couldn’t help it, I’ve heard people say, for he was like one of his uncles who used to be a shady financier down around Wall Street, New York City, and always grabbing things.”

Dick laughed a little at the queer conceit. Leslie was always saying odd things calculated to make others smile, it seemed.

“Well, if Asa has really conquered that weakness,” Dick went on to say soberly, “he deserves a heap of credit. Other fellows, who never knew what it was to feel that itching come over them so they just couldn’t resist a chance to take something, would never understand what the poor fellow has been up against.”

“You seem to believe he’s really and truly reformed, Dick.”

“I certainly do,” returned the other boy, warmly. “And if you care to hear why I’ll explain, though only if you promise never to breathe a word of it.”

“Count on me to keep the secret, Dick. I’ll be as dumb as any oyster you ever saw, so fire away.”

“Listen, then,” resumed the other, seriously. “One day about a week or so ago I was sent on an errand, and crossed the town graveyard to cut a corner. Somehow, when I was about half-way over, I thought I heard a voice, and yet I couldn’t see any one at first. I confess I was filled with curiosity, and looked around. Then I saw something move, and I stepped that way as softly as I could.”

“Oh! then it was Asa,” interrupted Leslie, feelingly. “And the chances are he was at his mother’s grave.”

“That’s where I found him,” said Dick, winking hard; “though I didn’t let him know I was around. He was lying there with his arms outspread, poor chap, and I guess he must have felt that his mother could hear him saying what he did, for it was to her he kept talking, now and then stopping to cry a little. I tell you, Leslie, it gave me a queer feeling to hear him; and pretty soon I slipped away without his knowing I’d been around.”

“What was he saying, Dick?” asked the other boy, with an intake of his breath.

“As near as I can remember it,” replied Dick, “he said something like this: ‘Oh, Mother! it’s hard to know you’re lying here all alone. But I’ll never forget what I promised you, and I’m trying with all my might and main to fight it out. I’ll win, too, Mother, I promise you I will! But oh! if I could only see you once more I’d be so happy!’”

Leslie was silent for a short time after Dick said this. He was not quite sure of his voice, which did sound a bit unsteady when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry now I ever believed Asa was bound to fall back again into his old ways, Dick. But Dan keeps on saying mean things about him, because once, you know, Asa stole something he valued a heap, and Dan has never quite forgotten it. After what you heard I reckon he will win out, and for one I’m going to help him all I can. The poor fellow needs friends to back him, just as Mr. Holwell said.”

“That sounds just like you, Leslie,” remarked Dick, slapping his chum heartily on the back at the same time. “And I’m with you every time. We may be of some help to poor lonely Asa; and anyway he’ll feel stronger if he sees that we believe in him.”

“Well, here’s where I have to say good night, Dick,” the other remarked, a few minutes later.

“It’s early still, Leslie. Why not come with me over to Mr. Nocker’s house. He’ll be expecting me after the meeting.”

“Hello! what’s in the wind now?” demanded Leslie, with a vein of boyish curiosity in his voice.

“Oh! nothing much,” came the answer. “I promised to let the deacon know how the meeting turned out, that’s all. You remember he’s taking a whole lot of interest nowadays in everything that concerns boys, and especially the fellows belonging to the Juniors of the Y. M. C. A.”

“That’s right; he is for a fact,” said Leslie, with a laugh. “It is one of the latter-day miracles, my folks say. Time wasn’t so long ago when Deacon Nocker seemed just to despise all boys. I guess it was because he made a foozle of bringing up his own son, who got in trouble, ran away from home, and left a wife and child when he died.”

“Well, we had something to do with making the old gentleman fall in love with his own grandson,” chuckled Dick in turn. “For that, it seems he’s never forgiven us, for he keeps trying to do us favors right along.”

They continued walking, and presently turned in at a gate. The grounds belonging to Deacon Nocker’s place were quite extensive. He was the richest storekeeper in Cliffwood, and had been a surly old fellow until recently, when a marvelous change for the better had come over him.

The deacon himself let them in, and his thin face was wreathed with a smile as they shook hands heartily with him. People used formerly to say that it felt like touching a snake to grasp the deacon’s cold hand. But that was when his heart was chilly too. Nowadays he was smiling all the day long, and really there was a vigor in the way he squeezed an outstretched hand that amazed his fellow townsmen.

“Little Billy wanted to stay up when he heard you were coming over later,” he was telling Dick, as he ushered the boys into his library, where his daughter-in-law, Tilly, was seated, doing some sewing at the table.

“I’m sorry he couldn’t,” remarked Dick, shaking hands with the pretty mother of the youngster, and who always had a smile for this boy friend who had done so much to assist her to make peace with Billy’s stern grandfather.

“I have just come downstairs after putting him to bed,” she told Dick. “I wish you could hear him at his prayers. He always insists on remembering you after he mentions his ‘darling mother’ and his ‘grand-daddy.’ You’re Billy’s one hero, Dick. He will never forget how you saved him from the fire,” she added, referring to an incident already related in my previous story.

“Well, he’s a dear little chap, that’s a fact,” remarked the boy, turning red with confusion as he always did when being praised. “But we’ve only stopped in as I promised you I would, Mr. Nocker, to report the poor success we’ve had so far in finding a suitable camp-site.”

The deacon raised his eyebrows, nor could Leslie believe that he looked in the least sorry.

“Tell me how you came out with regard to that site on Lake Marley,” requested the deacon.

“We had news through Doctor Madison that it has been promised to the scout troop over in Emoryville,” Dick went on to say. “So far we seem to be up in the air as to just where we can go. But, of course, we’ll find some place or other.”

“When do you have your next meeting?” asked Mr. Nocker, as the boys prepared to take their departure.

“To-morrow, sir, is the regular night for it,” he was told. “Every one has been asked to pick up any information he can in connection with another camp-site.”

“Well, I certainly hope that you will be successful in finding something to suit you, boys,” the deacon said, as they reached the door. “If I can be of any help, let me know, won’t you?”

“We certainly will, with pleasure, sir, and thank you for the offer.”

As Dick said this he and his chum strode toward the gate. Leslie was muttering to himself in a peculiar way he had. A minute later he broke out with:

“I don’t believe the deacon cares very much whether we get a camp or not, Dick. He was chuckling to himself most of the time, and rubbing his hands together like a miser. Perhaps he’s getting tired of playing godfather to a pack of boys.”

“Wait and see,” said Dick, mysteriously, and soon afterwards the chums separated.

CHAPTER IV
MR. NOCKER SPRINGS A SURPRISE

“Here we are again, right side up with care!” remarked Dan Fenwick on the following night, as he burst into the meeting-room of the handsome Y. M. C. A. building, accompanied by two other lads almost as noisy as himself.

“And it looks as if we might have a cracking good crowd here to-night,” added Elmer Jones, as he glanced around at the numerous occupants of the chairs. “Here’s our new member, Humbert Loft, the nephew of our high-brow town librarian who wanted us to read nothing but classics and the dead languages, instead of splendid stories for boys written by our favorite authors.”

“Yes, but who got beautifully left in the lurch when we started our own circulating library, every book of which has had the approval of Mr. Holwell, and is both clean and uplifting,” observed Peg Fosdick, who made the third of the trio of newcomers.

“I understand,” Dan went on to say, exultantly, “there are more than a hundred and thirty volumes on hand now, and Leslie’s Uncle Henry has promised us another batch just as soon as he can run down to the city and look them all over, to be sure they are of the right sort.”

“There are three of the mill boys here to-night—Eddie Grant, Ban Jansen and Cub Mannis,” whispered Elmer. “I know Dick will be glad of that, and Mr. Holwell too, because they get around so seldom. Eddie said one night that they were usually too tired out after their work.”

“Mr. Holwell says he is more interested in getting those fellows here than in any of the rest of us,” Dan remarked, confidentially.

“Oh, that’s something everybody knows!” exclaimed Elmer. “He says we’ve got good homes, and are under the right kind of influence; but Eddie and his crowd live in the slums, as you might say, and their only place at nights is on the street corners or in saloons. It was largely to keep them from temptation that Mr. Holwell first considered this addition to the regular Y. M. C. A.”

“I understand that some of the mill hands are taking a vacation—against their will,” observed Dan. “You see, every summer the company picks out a week or so to clean up, and, of course, lay a part of their force off. Now, like as not the boys have heard of our going off on an outing, and hope to be able to join the crowd.”

“Say, I hope they do!” declared Elmer. “Those three fellows are all right; and for one I’d like to know more of them. Yes, I’d be glad if they could go along.”

“The only trouble,” continued Dan, “would be that it will cost us so much a head to have a week or two in the woods. Some of these fellows need every cent they earn; and that might prevent them from going along.”

“Just leave all that to Mr. Holwell,” replied Elmer, confidently. “He’s the one to think up some scheme to open the way. There come Dick and Leslie. I must say nobody looks extra gay to-night. See how they all fix their eyes on Dick, just as if they expected him to be a magician and haul a camp-site from his bag as the magicians used to pull out rabbits and such things.”

The meeting was soon called to order by Mr. Bartlett, who again put Dick in charge. After the roll had been gone over the regular business was taken up. Plainly every boy was nervous, for all paid less attention to ordinary matters than customary.

“You see, every one wants to get down to that camping business,” whispered Dan to his nearest neighbor on the left, who happened to be the mill hand, Eddie Grant. “They’re hoping Dick has got wind of a place where all of us can go for ten days or so.”

Eddie Grant sighed.

“I reckon it’s going to be too rich a treat for the likes of some of us fellers,” he remarked also in a whisper. Dan could easily catch the shade of bitter disappointment in his manner, showing that the mill boys had been hugging a hope to their hearts that a way might be provided whereby they could accompany the others of the Y. M. C. A. boys on their outing.

When finally the ordinary routine of business had been brought to a hurried conclusion Elmer Jones was on his feet with a motion.

“I move, Mr. President,” he said, with a broad smile, “that we proceed to the most important matter that engages our attention just now and hear the report of the committee appointed to find a camp-site for the club.”

“Second the motion!” exclaimed Phil Harkness. “Although there’s little need of it,” he went on, “because hearing the report of any committee comes under the head of business.”

Dick knew the boys were anxious to learn whether he had met with success. He hated to disappoint them, but it seemed as though nothing else could be done.

“I took a whole lot of my time to-day running around, making inquiries of different people who might know of something we could get,” he announced. “But so far there’s nothing in sight worth having. Mr. Truesdale said he wouldn’t object if we camped in his woods as long as we behaved, and didn’t leave any fires burning when we went away from camp. But you all know the Truesdale woods, boys.”

“Poor place, where they used to have the Sunday School picnics some years,” ventured one boy. There was a look of disgust on his face as he spoke, as though he were thinking it would be much too tame for them to spend a whole week on the spot where children came to picnic.

“And too near town besides,” added Dan Fenwick. “When we camp out it’s got to be far away from home, and in a regular wilderness. That’s what makes it feel like the real thing. Huh! I’d as soon put up a tent in our back yard, and stick it out there for a week, as go to that old Truesdale wood.”

Dick laughed at the vigor of these replies, though he had fully anticipated hearing something of the sort.

“Perhaps some one else has had the good luck to get track of a place,” he went on to remark. “If so, don’t be backward about coming forward. We’d like to hear what you’ve done, even if it was only to meet with disappointment as I did.”

Clint Babbett jumped to his feet, saying:

“I tackled ever so many people during the day, and had two places offered to me, but on conditions we couldn’t think of accepting. One of these, would you believe it, came from a woman who insisted that we build no fires while in camp, as she would do what cooking was necessary.”

At that a shout went up, nor did the chairman attempt to quell it, for he, too, was shaking with laughter, as was also the amused Mr. Bartlett, sitting near by.

“What d’you think of that, now?” cried Dan Fenwick. “Camping out for a whole week, and not allowed to light even one fire to sit around in the evenings! Say, I can see twenty hungry fellows marching up to that woman’s door three times a day for a cold hand-out!”

“She’d get sick of her bargain in no time. She’d find we’d eat her out of house and home,” laughed Peg Fosdick.

“There’s no doubt,” interrupted Dick, seriously, “but the woman thought she was giving us boys a big help, but it only goes to show how little some women know what a boy’s heart hungers for. It takes a man to understand a boy, my mother says. Why, even girls in these days wouldn’t stand for that sort of camping out.”

Several others got up to tell how they had prosecuted an earnest search, but absolutely without success. No one seemed to know of a suitable site for a boys’ camp within a reasonable distance of town.

As the chances grew less encouraging, some of the boys began whispering among themselves. It really looked as though the plan on which they had set their hearts would have to be given up.

Dick was holding the meeting from being adjourned, though Leslie could not see the sense of further discussion, since no one had been able to offer any real hope of success. Still, had any one watched Dick closely, he would have discovered that the acting chairman cast many anxious glances toward the door of the room, and that his nervousness was really taking on the form of keen disappointment.

Then it came to pass that the door was quietly opened and some one slipped into the room. No one but Dick saw him enter, for all were engaged just then in a warm discussion as to whether it might not be wise to accept the kindly meant offer of Mr. Truesdale, and make the best of it.

Dick smiled now, as though a heavy load had been taken from his mind. Certain suspicions he had allowed himself to entertain were evidently in a fair way of becoming actual realities.

It was no other than Deacon Nocker who had so silently entered. He stood listening to what was being said for and against the Truesdale woods. Dick could see the smile on his thin face, and he noticed the way he kept nodding his head as he followed the arguments advanced.

“I guess it’s as good as settled,” was what Dick was telling himself; though, in reality, he had no means of knowing what kind of offer Mr. Nocker was going to make to the boys of the Y. M. C. A. to whom he owed so much happiness.

“Allow me to say a few words, boys,” remarked the deacon, presently, at which there was a craning of necks, and many eager looks cast in his direction. “Most of you may not know that I own all the land around Lake Russabaga, including a famous camp-site on Bass Island. I’ve come here to-night to make you an offer, which pleases me much more than it can any of you. Now, if the proper arrangements can be made for transportation, and your parents are willing you should go so far from home, I want the Y. M. C. A. boys to camp up there on the prettiest lake in the whole State. I hope you’ll accept my offer, which comes direct from my heart!”

CHAPTER V
A BRIGHT PROSPECT AHEAD

Dick was laughing now. He had had good reason to suspect that Mr. Nocker intended to help them.

Everybody was looking happy after hearing the wonderful offer which the deacon had just made. Led by Dan Fenwick, the boys raised a shout in which the name of Mr. Nocker was plainly distinguishable.

The deacon held up his hand as though he had something more to communicate, so Dick, as chairman of the meeting, knocked on the table with his gavel to bring the wild cheering to an end.

“There are a few things I want to say to you, boys,” began the deacon, evidently enjoying the sensation of being so heartily cheered. “The first is in connection with the expense you will all be under, if you accept my offer. Lake Russabaga is a good many miles away from Cliffwood, and the railroad fare will amount to considerable.”

“We’ll be glad to stand for that, sir!” announced one boy, quickly.

“I have no doubt but the majority of you can spend the money required without feeling it,” continued the deacon, with a quick look toward the three mill boys who were leaning forward and listening eagerly. “But there may be a number who would like to go, and yet who could not spare the money to pay their expenses. I have a little plan to help them out.”

The interest of Eddie Grant and his two companions increased. They seemed to understand that Mr. Nocker had them especially in mind.

“There are some extensive patches of blueberries growing about my property on the lake,” continued the deacon. “Every year up to now I have given permits to certain people to pick all they wanted, and send the results down to the canning factory here in Cliffwood. This season, although the crop I am told is an extra large one, no one has applied for permission to pick it. So I propose that as many boys as wish may spend a portion of their camp time gathering blueberries. I will make arrangements to get them down here, and each boy will be credited with his earnings, which will go to repay the money I agree to advance on tickets and other expenses.”

At that Eddie Grant jumped to his feet with a vim.

“There are some of us here, Mr. Nocker,” he exclaimed, eagerly, “who want to go on this trip, but didn’t feel that we could afford to spend the money that we’ll need a little later for clothes or somethin’. We’ll be mighty willin’ to pick berries, or do anything like that, to help pay our share of the expenses. Isn’t that so, boys?”

“It sure is!” answered one of his mates, and the other nodded his head vigorously, being too agitated to use his voice.

“Well,” continued the deacon, with another smile of satisfaction as though he truly enjoyed being the messenger of good news. “I’ll leave it to you to decide. If your treasury doesn’t hold enough ready cash I’d be willing to help out, or start a collection to tide over.”

“Oh! we couldn’t stand for that, sir!” exclaimed Leslie Capes, quickly. “Nearly all of us can raise the amount needed; and your plan will settle the share of those for whom the expense would be too great. Taking up a collection sounds too much like charity. We’ve got something left from the proceeds of our minstrel entertainment, for one thing, that could be loaned to any member in good standing, to be repaid after we came back from the camp. None of us who hasn’t the money would mind working for it, but I’m sure I can speak for all and say not one of us wants it given to him.”

“There’s another thing I want to mention,” called back the deacon from the open door just before he vanished, “and that is, if you conclude to accept my offer and camp on Bass Island up at Lake Russabaga, you must beware of that thief!”

The boys stared at each other on hearing this, especially since the deacon did not stay to explain what he meant. After he had withdrawn there was considerable discussion as to what his mysterious words signified.

“What sort of people live up that way, anyhow,” one boy asked, “for him to tell us to look out for that thief?”

“If there’s a thief loose up there why haven’t they caught him before now?” another demanded.

“P’r’aps that job is being held off for the Y. M. C. A. boys to tackle,” suggested a third with a grin that told how gladly he would enter into the game if it should really turn out that way.

“It strikes me as a rather poor sort of place for respectable boys to camp in, if there’s such a low character loose in the vicinity. I really will have to think it over before deciding to accompany the rest of you.”

That came from Humbert Loft, a nephew of the librarian whose constant nagging of the town boys, in his desire to have them select only standard works suited to much older heads, rather than the juvenile books they yearned to read, had been the cause of much bad feeling, and had resulted in the boys starting a library of their own.

The peculiar ways of Humbert were well known to the others, so that his present lofty remark did not cause much surprise. Most of the boys indeed could not bear his superior airs, and thus far his associations had not been of a character to give him much joy.

Dick alone stood by him whenever the others started to tease the librarian’s nephew, who had imbibed the notions of Mr. Loft himself. Dick could not agree with the ideas which Humbert advanced, but still he believed he could catch traces of the more natural boy underneath this veneering. Dick hoped that some time or other Humbert might throw off his sham of superior polish and come out as Nature intended boys to be, perhaps rough and careless, but good-hearted, and meaning well even when disposed to be full of boyish pranks.

Asa Gardner in particular heard the remarks made by Mr. Nocker with great joy. As he had told Dick, he often dreamed of enjoying the pleasure of camping out, of which he had read many times; and now that it began to look as though a chance had come for him to experience the sensation he felt very happy.

“The outdoor life is the thing for me,” he remarked to Elmer Jones after the meeting had been adjourned by the temporary chairman.

“Well, for that matter I’m just as crazy about such things as any fellow could be and keep out of the asylum,” remarked Elmer. “I’ve had a few chances to camp out and have managed to pick up some of the tricks of the trade. But there’s a heap I don’t know yet, and I mean to learn it all as fast as I can.”

“But besides the fun of the thing,” continued Asa, seriously, “it’s bound to do me lots of good, you know. My mother told me to keep out-of-doors all I could, because—well, my lungs are a little weak, I guess. You know my brother was taken off that way, and it kind of scares me sometimes when I have a cough.”

Elmer, big and strong, who never had known a sick day in all his life, could still feel for a boy who had not enjoyed such robust health.

“Couldn’t do anything better than to live out-of-doors all you can, Asa,” he went on to say. “They’ve found that fresh air is the best thing going for weak lungs. In fact they’ve stopped giving medicine, and just keep patients in the sunshine and the air all the day, as well as get them to sleep in the open too.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing for a year now,” continued the other, eagerly. “I have a sleeping porch alongside my room, and all last winter I never spent even one night indoors.”

Elmer looked at him with more respect on hearing this.

“And we had several big blizzards at that,” he remarked. “Then you must be in good trim for camping, because you’re used to the night air. But we’re all of us a heap glad we are really going so far away from home, though we’ll miss our moth——”

Elmer stopped suddenly, because he remembered that Asa had lost his mother. He saw the other turn white and gulp hard; but as Elmer walked away just then nothing further was said on the subject.

The boys found it hard to separate that night, there was so much to talk over. Suggestions were made of every kind as to what supplies they ought to take with them and whether this or that would be the right thing.

“Before we leave here, boys,” said Dick as they prepared finally to depart, “it strikes me it would be only fair to give three cheers for Mr. Nocker, one of the best friends the boys of Cliffwood ever had. That is, if Mr. Bartlett doesn’t object.”

The cheers were given with a will, and as the windows of the room were open the man, who happened to be passing, could plainly hear his name mentioned with hearty vigor as the score of lusty voices rang out. And Deacon Nocker felt a warmth in his heart as he listened, such as that organ had never known before.

CHAPTER VI
MAKING CAMP ON BASS ISLAND

A few days later, when a train stopped at the small station of Rockton, a crowd of boys accompanied by two older persons and a smiling colored man, jumped from the cars. They seemed to carry innumerable packages, and not a few had in addition knapsacks fastened to their backs.

Besides this, from the baggage car an astonishing amount of stuff was thrown, consisting of tents and cots and blankets.

Most of the provisions had been properly packed at the store. But Dick saw to it that such things as eggs were carried by some of the boys, since they would not stand much rough handling. They expected, however, to secure further farm products from some farmer not a great distance away from the camp on the shore of Bass Island.

Then the train began to puff again, and the score of boys, together with Harry Bartlett, Mr. Asa Rowland, the physical culture director at the Y. M. C. A., and “Sunny Jim,” the negro cook, found themselves left at the small station.

“They say it’s all of four long miles to the lake,” remarked Peg Fosdick, taking a look over the camp duffle that had been thrown in a great pile alongside the track.

“Oh! if you think that would be too long a tramp for your game leg, Mr. Bartlett would let you ride on one of the two wagons we’ve hired to haul the stuff over,” Dick told him. To this, however, Peg protested, saying:

“Huh! what d’ye take me for, Dick? If I’m not good for a little hike like that I ought to have stayed at home and be tied to mother’s apron strings. I was only wondering how much of this stuff I could hoist in case those wagons failed us, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t bother about that,” called out Leslie just then. “From the cloud of dust rising along the road over yonder I reckon our teams are coming now.”

His prediction turned out a true one, and it did not take the eager boys long to get their possessions loaded. There was more or less merriment as this labor was in progress; and many were the comments made concerning the piled-up wagons.

“Looks just like a gypsy outfit on the road,” suggested Clint Babbett.

“Now it would be a good thing for everybody who cared to do it to put his bundle aboard one of the supply wagons,” Dick suggested. “Four miles is something of a walk on a hot day like this, and it’s going to feel like a bag of lead before you get there. We can take turns carrying those precious home-laid eggs.”

“If we get settled in camp this afternoon we’ll be in good fix for our first night out,” asserted Elmer, after they had started on the tramp, stringing along the dusty country road.

“We ought to have the camp in pretty good shape for Mr. Holwell, if he keeps his promise and comes up to see how we’re getting on to-morrow,” added Dan. “We must let him see that we know how to go about things in a way to make ’em look clean and neat. As Mr. Bartlett says, we don’t mean to stand for any shiftless ways in Camp Russabaga!”

“That name sounds good to me,” remarked Dick, instantly. “If the rest of you are of the same mind let’s begin and call it that from now on.”

“Camp Russabaga it is!” exclaimed Peg, with his customary enthusiasm. “There could hardly be a name that’d suit me better.”

“It’s just the ticket all around!” added Asa.

“I should call it quite euphonious!” observed Humbert Loft, who after all had decided to risk having his feelings hurt many times by his rough comrades, and from sheer curiosity had concluded to accompany them on the camping trip.

The campers plodded along just ahead of the heavily laden wagons, and as is the case when a number of lively boys get together, there was so much laughter and conversation that none of them noticed the passage of time.

“We’re getting near the lake, fellows!” suddenly called out Fred Bonnicastle. “I’m sure I had a glimpse of something that looked like water just then. Yes, it lies yonder—between the two big oaks.”

“And not over half a mile away at that!” added some one else, hopefully, for feet were commencing to drag.

“It’s surely lonely enough up this way,” remarked Leslie. “Not a sign of a cabin around.”

“I heard there were one or two shanties on Bass Island that the berry pickers stay in when it storms, the best picking being over on the island,” answered Peg Fosdick. “We can make use of them for a storage place.”

“And, too, if any finiky chap doesn’t like the idea of sleeping under canvas, he’s at liberty to fix himself a bunk where he’ll have a real roof over him,” put in Dan.

He looked at Humbert when saying this. The “superior” boy colored a little and hastened to say:

“Oh! as for me, I’ve quite made up my mind that when I’m in Rome I shall do as the Romans do. My uncle advised me to forget that we came of an old and honored New England family when associating with——Oh! I mean that I want to do just as the rest of you think is best.”

“He came mighty near calling us common folks!” whispered Peg, gloomily, turning to Elmer, who chanced to be alongside the limping one. “I reckon that is about what he really believes us to be. I hope His Majesty isn’t going to be contaminated while he’s up here in camp with the common herd. ‘Those who touch pitch will be defiled,’ I heard Mr. Holwell say only last Sunday.”

“I’m real sorry for Humbert,” Elmer told him in reply. “He’s so very nice that this rough-and-ready world isn’t good enough to hold him. He ought to be in a glass case, it strikes me.”

The idea caused Peg to laugh aloud. Possibly Humbert may have suspected that he had something to do with their merriment, for he turned and looked at them almost reproachfully, which caused Peg to say in a low tone:

“Oh! well, I suppose he just can’t help it. He’s been fed with soft pap all his life, and had to associate with that lofty Loft uncle of his who really believes all boys should be forced to read nothing but standard works.”

It was not long before they came in sight of Lake Russabaga. The spectacle was so inspiring that the boys broke out into a loud cheer.