acticability. Besides the
"big range," there were various arrangements for hanging a single kettle
over a small fire, a roasting spit with fan attachment to keep it
turning constantly, and a reflecting oven. And over it all the high
pines rustled and shed their fragrance, and the sunlight filtered
through in spots, and the breeze blew the smoke round in playful little
wreaths, while the birds warbled their approval of the sensible folks
who knew enough to live outdoors in summer.

It was all too beautiful to express in words, and much too beautiful to
belong to a place called Murphy's Island, so the campers decided before
the first night was over.

"It reminds me of Scotland," remarked Mr. Evans, "the scenery is so wild
and rugged."

"Then let's rename it Ellen's Isle, after the one in 'The Lady of the
Lake,'" said Gladys promptly. "It's our island and we can change the
name if we want to. How important it makes you feel to own so much
scenery to do what you like with!"

"Ellen's Isle" seemed such a suitable name for the beautiful little
island that they all wondered how anyone could ever have called it
anything else, even for a minute. One side of it curved in a tiny
crescent, and there the water was calm and shallow, running up on a
smooth, sandy beach. Behind the beach the land rose in a steep bluff for
about fifty feet and stood high out of the water, its grim, rocky sides
giving it the look of a mediaeval castle. A steep path wound up the
hillside, crossed in many places by the roots of trees growing along the
slope, which were both a help in gaining a foothold and a fruitful
source of mishap if you happened to be in too much of a hurry.

On three sides of the island the waves dashed high against the rocky
cliffs, filling the sleepers in the tents with pleasant terrors at
night. The island being so high it afforded a fine view of the country
round. On the one side rose the heavily wooded slopes of the mainland,
with the spires and roofs of St. Pierre in the distance. A mile or so to
the left of St. Pierre a lighthouse stood out in the water, gleaming
white against the dark land behind it. It was only visible by day,
however, for it was no longer used as a beacon. The changing of the
channel and the building of the breakwater in the harbor of St. Pierre
had made it necessary to have the light there and the old one was
abandoned. It now stood silent and lonely, gradually falling into decay
under the buffeting o