the stunts of the other scouts, but none of them
could be mentioned along with Nick's signalling.

One morning Nick sauntered down to the shore, Peter with him.

"Going to wigwag?" they asked him.

"Maybe, if there's anyone to wigwag to. No use talking if there isn't
anyone in town to listen."

"Scout Harris talks whether there's anyone to listen or not," one said.

"Shall I bring the card to wigwag with?" Peter asked.

"No, don't bother. Got some matches? Never mind if you haven't."

Peter ran back and got some.

"If you're signalling tell them not to hurry with the school, we can
wait. Scout Harris is giving us an education. He's going to move the
lake to-morrow."

"He's a queer duck," one of the party sprawling around the tents said as
the two made their way down toward the shore.

"Who, Pete?"

"No, Nick; jiminy, it always seems as if--I don't know--as if he has
something up his sleeve."

"It's his arm," commented a joker.

"Maybe he knows about a mystery," Pee-wee said; "maybe there's treasure
buried on this island."

"There'll be some scouts buried on this island if we all die laughing at
you," another scout observed. "Come on, let's dig some bait."

Nick did not decide what he was going to do till he reached the shore.
That was just like him. Peter was all excitement.

"Are you going to signal?" he asked.

Nick often signalled over to town and sometimes he got an answer, for
there were other scouts over there. He did it just for pastime. Usually
it was the wigwag that he used. But on this morning, noticing the dried
leaves all about, he said, "We'll try a smudge, that's pretty good
sport; Morse Code, you know." He looked about half-interestedly and
began kicking leaves into a pile, Peter doing the same. If Nick had any
particular purpose in this business, at least you would not have
supposed so. He seemed as aimless as a butterfly. "Are you going to ask
about school?"

"No," laughed Nick, dragging some leaves with his foot; "there's no
school for a month, we know that. If you know a thing you know it; isn't
that so?"

"I don't know many things."

"No? Well, get some water in your hat--here, take mine. These blamed
scout hats are made to hold water."

Peter brought some water, which Nick poured on the leaves.

"Now haul that old raft up here and we'll hold it up. We'll just say
'_hello_' to be sociable, show the town we're not stuck-up."

They held the old raft, of about the area of