was that in the morning they chugged four miles down stream, crossed over to the west shore, and found a mooring in a charming little sandy cove. The sky was blue again, the river like a great mirror, and the sun shone hot and comforting. The Slow Poke lay nestled right up to the bank and a few yards away the stream which they had come to fish in flowed into the cove under an old rickety wooden bridge. Between the road and the water was a grove of trees and a little clearing in which the grass grew knee-deep. Some four hundred yards down-stream huddled a small settlement consisting of a store and a half-dozen white and drab houses under a group of giant elms.
“What a lovely place for a camp,” mused Harry, as the boat was made fast.
“Great!” Chub agreed. “Let’s pitch the tent, fellows, and live ashore for a day or two. Doctor Emery and Harry can stay aboard at night and guard the boat.”
The proposition was received with enthusiasm, and before noon camp was made at the edge of the grove and Dick was cooking dinner over an open fire. They ate the last of the doughnuts at that meal and Chub was inconsolable until
