emselves
until they had seen their welcome guests served.

"Daddy," murmured Laura, "I don't blame you for regretting your
boyhood, if you had many trout feasts."

"How's the bass?" asked Tom, almost jealously.

"Just splendid," replied Laura, sampling her first fork full.

"You boys are camping in a fisherman's paradise," declared Dr.
Bentley. "I don't blame you for liking this life. When I was
a boy fresh water fish were almost as plentiful as salt water
fish. Now, we rarely find any fresh water fish in the markets.
I can't understand how this choice retreat for fishermen has
escaped notice, unless it is because of the almost total lack
of inhabitants in this section, and the miserable apologies for
roads. Once again I must caution all of you young women not to
be indiscreet and spoil this fisherman's paradise for your young
friends by talking about it to anyone."

All four of the girls promised absolute secrecy.

After they had all satisfied their hunger, Dick asked Dr. Bentley
all about the St. Clair Lake House. He learned that it was a
fine, modern hotel, accommodating about one hundred and fifty
guests. It was just on the edge of the good roads, Dr. Bentley
explained; this side of the hotel no roads worthy of the name
existed. Dick was very thoughtful after receiving the information,
for he had something on his mind.

"How about that chauffeur of yours, doctor?" asked Dave suddenly.

"Oh, we left him with a comfortable luncheon," replied Dr. Bentley.
"He can't leave the car, you know."

"Will you take him two or three trout, sir?" urged Dick.

"And a bass, sir?" added Reade.

"We'll wait for him to eat them in the car," replied the physician,
"provided the poor fellow hasn't gorged himself on plainer food
and has no room left for real fare like this."

When the time came that the guests must really leave, five of
the boys accompanied the party to the road. Hazelton remained
to watch the camp.

"Now, let's hustle!" urged Dick, as the car rolled out of sight.
"When we get back to camp we have many long hours of work to do."

"Work of what kind?" inquired Tom.

"First of all," replied Prescott, with his most mysterious air,
"we are going to build, close to camp, a make-believe ice-box.
Then we're going to fill the box with ice."

"And what will all that be for?" Dave wanted to know.

"If you can't guess now," smiled young Prescott, his eyes gleaming,
"you'll soon begin to see daylight t