The next morning broke clear and beautiful as only a late spring day can start. The step-brothers found Aunt Belle busy canning rhubarb, and she eyed the two dozen jars with keen satisfaction.

“There, that’s finished,” she announced.

“Did you do all that this morning?” Jim asked for the sun was hardly well out of the Lake and was sending a golden path dancing across the water.

“Land o’ Goodness, yes. Tomorrow I’m going to make some dandelion wine, and before sun-up is the best time of day to get work done, to my way of thinking,” she replied as she bustled about getting the meal ready.

“Then suppose we give you that joy-ride right after breakfast,” Jim proposed, and he looked at her to see if she had changed her mind.

“Land o’ Goodness, you boys don’t believe in giving a body a minute to worry over doing a thing like that. I don’t know—”

“There’s no time like the present,” Bob teased her, and she smiled.

“I might’s well get it over with and it will be a real experience. I can think of it all winter. All right.” They both had a hunch that she was eager for the adventure, but she was mighty nervous about it, just the same. “It’s kind of like going to have an operation or a tooth pulled,” she told them and they laughed.

“You won’t feel that way about it when you come back.”

“Coming back will be a relief, like when the tooth or the appendix has been taken out. I suppose I’ll be kind of shaky and queer, but the agony will be over. Now, you sit right down and help yourselves. Norman told me to be sure to wrap up warm.” She hurried away and the boys grinned, then obeyed orders. By the time they had finished, Mrs. Fenton appeared, wrapped from head to foot almost like an Eskimo. Her lips were set grimly and her fists were clenched for the ordeal.

“Now, don’t you be afraid, Aunt Belle. It isn’t any worse than sitting in a rocking chair, and it’s much more exciting.”

“I expect you’re right. It was exciting watching you drop out of the sky on a streak of lightning yesterday,” she gave a nervous giggle.

“We won’t stay up very long, and if we see the tiniest cloud, we’ll bring you right back,” Jim promised.

Fifteen minutes later they were ready for the start. Aunt Belle had been given advice and instructions, strapped fast and parachuted in case of an emergency, her head encased in one of her nephew’s helmets and goggles adjusted so she could pull them down. The speaking tube and field glasses were close at hand. This trip Jim was in the back seat while his step-brother was beside the passenger. Not a word did the lady utter during the preliminaries, but when young Austin called that all was as it should be in the rear, she braced herself stiffly, her frightened eyes searching the velvety-blue heavens for a sign of a cloud which might possibly spell danger.

“All set!” Bob shouted as he opened her for an easy take-off.

Her Highness seemed to realize the importance of behaving like a member of the royal family and did her part like a charm. She skimmed over the lake, circled widely, nosed up speculatively, lifted slowly on a long gradual climb, the motion of which was truly as pleasant as being rocked comfortably in a grandmother’s big chair. Up they went five hundred feet and by that time they were beyond the south end of Fisher’s Island and sailing gaily toward the narrows below the Point. Bob leveled off, they soared ahead, came partly around and climbed again at easy stages until the altimeter registered twelve hundred feet. The boy was glad that his aunt had asked no questions about the control board. Her Highness roared across North Hero Island, turned south again toward Grand Isle, then curved to come back. By that time Mrs. Fenton was wearing a very surprised look, and a moment later, she gave a relieved sigh, relaxed, and even sat up a little. Her lips moved and the boy knew that she was saying:

“My land o’ goodness.”

“Look,” he pointed ahead and she followed the direction with interest, and after five minutes more, she was gazing over the side with fine unconcern. Then Bob pressed the glasses upon her, and she raised them to her eyes, and smiled at the wonders she beheld.

As Mrs. Fenton had never been “joy riding” before, the boys had agreed not to keep her up too long this first trip, so Bob brought Her Highness about, roared over the country his aunt knew; crossed the island above the bridge which connects North Hero with Isle La Motte, and curved over the latter stretch of land until they were sailing on a line with the turkey farm.

Jim in the back seat had time for observation, so he took a good look at the place. He had no difficulty in making out the ancient homestead, the old house where he guessed that Hezzy Burley, the poultry man, lived with his helpers. Close by were a number of hatcheries, and further along high wire-covered pens where turkeys, young and old, strutted timidly. The boy didn’t have time to get a bird’s-eye view of the whole farm, but he did notice that it came down to the lake on one side, and stretched back over a belt of timber and beyond a hill which looked as if it might be a very delightful place to ramble, but no good for landing a plane. As he glanced with interest at the Fenton property, he thought he saw some men in a ravine and decided they were hikers, or merely out for a stroll. Then, suddenly it occurred to him that they had no business on the property and it might be a good idea to tell Mr. Fenton and have Hezzy keep on the lookout for them. The boy wondered if the watch dogs had arrived, but his mental query was answered immediately, for he saw two dogs racing down to the water, and both of them plunged in for a swim. They looked like a very capable pair and he hoped they would be able to save Bob’s uncle from having to mark off another bad year in his turkey business.

Her Highness was now soaring as gracefully as the white gulls they passed on the water, and Bob shut off the engine. The plane began a beautiful descent, and in a minute more she was floating toward the pier.

“Well, how’s the tooth, Aunt Belle?” Bob teased.

“My land sakes alive, if it isn’t the beatinest. There, I never slept a wink all night thinking about it, wishin’ I’d been a better Christian in case I never got down to earth again, and all that worry—”

“Was a dead loss,” Jim laughed.

“Yes it was,” she admitted honestly. “It was just marvelous. Now, I’ve got to hurry. My fruit man comes through in a few minutes and I want some lemons. Tourists say this fruit wagon is kind of interesting and curious, maybe you boys would like to look at it,” she invited. “It comes from Montreal, through the customs, and we can buy things cheaper than we can get them from our own stores. It seems queer, but it’s so.” They had unstrapped her and she smiled.

“I’d like to see him. We have some queer covered wagons that are driven through Texas. How did you like the ride?”

“A lot, and I’m ever so much obliged to you both. My land o’goodness—I mustn’t forget to write to your mother and tell her I’ve been up with you. Her Highness is real pretty, isn’t she!”

“We think she is,” Bob answered with pride.

“You got a right to think that.” Aunt Belle stood a moment to admire the plane, which did look particularly lovely as the sun shone on her broad wings, and the water beneath her, splashed gently about the floats. “She’s a beauty.”

“I saw some men, hikers I guess, back of your turkey farm,” Jim volunteered as they went toward the house.

“There’s a lot of people living at the north end of the Isle, and they are likely to go roaming all over the place. Sometimes the school teachers take nature classes to study the trees, and the Boy Scouts asked permission to camp there. Hezzy knows them all and he lets them go parts where they won’t do any damage or scare the birds.”

“Probably it’s all right then.” Jim dismissed the idea that he might have spotted something important, and followed the others into the house.

“I got some bananas, Mees Fenton.” It was a soft pleasant voice that spoke, and the lips were parted in a wide smile.

“Little Greaser?” Bob said in an undertone.

“More likely little Canuck,” Jim reminded him. “And he’s not so little at that.” The man was certainly picturesque in his baggy trousers, tied at the knees with pieces of new hemp, a red flannel shirt, and velvet jacket. He stood over six feet in his moccasins, which were of thick deer skin, and he might have been taller, but the weight of his hat must have kept him down.

“I’ll be right out, Pedro,” Mrs. Fenton called and she hurried away to rid herself of the extra clothing she had donned for the air ride. The two boys strolled out on the veranda to wait for her, and they could see the huge covered truck standing under the shade of two of the maples that edged the winding main road. Being sure of a customer, Pedro proceeded to his wagon, opened the end doors, leaped lightly over the tail board, and disappeared.

“Cracky, it doesn’t look like any wagon I ever saw before,” said Bob.

“No.” They studied it with interest. It was heavily built, evidently constructed for long hauls and to carry heavy loads. The “cover” was of wood and metal, and the whole thing was painted a brilliant red and deep blue.

“Anyone would recognize that as far as he could see it,” laughed Bob. “Oh, here you are.” Mrs. Fenton came out with a basket on her arm and the three made their way to the caravan.

“Do all these peddlers have wagons like that?” Jim wanted to know.

“Good land, no, only Pedro. He had it made specially. Fills it up in Canada. He has to carry a great deal of truck to make it pay because some of the customs are high,” she explained.

“Does he pick up American goods to take back?”

“Yes, and sometimes he does a little freighting when he can’t buy our farm products.” They had reached the end of the wagon, and the boys were amazed at its capacity. It seemed to hold a store full of goods. Besides the early vegetables, lemons, bananas, oranges, and pineapples, there were moccasins, Indian bows and arrows for youthful purchasers, bright blankets, and some skins hanging from the top. Mrs. Fenton looked over the wares, made her selection, and finally the transaction was completed. Pedro got a pail of water from the lake and gave his engine a drink, then climbed into the seat, waved cheerfully, and thundered colorfully off toward the next farm. In a minute he disappeared over the hill, but it took longer for the noise of his machine to diminish in the distance.

“Golly, he could take half the State over the border in that bus,” Bob declared, then added as he saw the foreign boy coming from the garden, “Here’s our friend. Hello,” he called. The boy stopped, eyed them keenly, then smiled and showed a set of teeth so perfect that any dentist would have given half his kingdom to use his picture in an advertisement.

“Old Top, so long.”

“Guess that will hold you for a while,” Jim roared. “You are dismissed, my brother, Old Top.”

“Aw I say, that’s wrong. Hello!”

“Aw,” the boy repeated—“Aw, hello.”

“That’s more like it.” He pointed to his step-brother. “Jim.” The boy looked at Jim, who flushed under the scrutiny. “Jim,” Bob said again.

“Jimmm?”

“You got it. Jim.”

“Aw, Old Top; Jim, so long; hello.”

“Will you listen to the vocabulary. Ain’t that marvelous!”

“It ain’t,” Jim scowled, then he pointed to Bob. “Bob,” he explained. The boy seemed to understand that it was some sort of introduction.

“It ain’t Bob?”

“Yes it is,” Bob insisted, pointing to himself. “Bob.”

“Bob? Jim?”

“Great,” they both nodded gleefully. “You’re a regular chatterbox.”

The boy repeated the words he had learned and seemed to enjoy the sound of them. Then he stood a moment, straight as a young sapling, the expression on his face changed to a sober one, and into his deep, fine eyes, came a thoughtful look, which seemed to be habitual to them. As they met his gaze, any desire they might have had to have fun with him, disappeared, and the step-brothers felt a strong urge inside them to befriend this young foreigner.

“Bet my share of Her Highness against a plugged dime that he’d make a great pal,” Jim remarked.

“I’m not taking you up. Let’s see if we can’t teach him more English. That won’t be butting in,” Bob proposed.

“Maybe we can do a little,” Jim agreed. But just then a soft whistle came from further up the road and the boy turned quickly, leaped over the low fence and started toward the sound. The boys watched him until a moment later he joined his Uncle, who had evidently called. They both hurried in the direction of the lake, and a few minutes later, the young Americans heard the dip of oars as a boat was shoved off onto the water. Aimlessly Jim and Bob followed more slowly until they were standing on the shore, and they could see the boat skimming swiftly north.

“They parked it here. Guess they’re going home to lunch, and it’s easier than walking up the road,” Jim suggested. He glanced at the marks on the rocks and sand where the boat had been left. Bob stared at the spot as if he expected to learn something of the two mysterious persons who had just left it.

“Here’s a can, or something.” Bob stooped and picked up a small covered box. It was somewhat the shape of a tobacco box such as men carry in their pockets, and was no more than an inch thick.

“That isn’t tin. Maybe they dropped it,” Jim said as he turned it over in his hand.

“Say, know what that looks like?”

“A box—”

“Sure, but the metal looks like my silver watch did—you remember it got almost coal-black—sort of brownish.”

“So it does. Guess this is silver. We better keep it, and if it belongs to the kid, return it to him.”

“Sure. If it doesn’t belong to him, Aunt Belle may know who owns it. Mom said that in a little place like this everybody knows all about what everybody else owns.” Jim turned the thing over in his hand again, gave it a little shake, and as he did so, the cover sprang back, as if he had pressed a concealed spring.

“Well, look here,” he exclaimed. The two looked inside but all they could see was some bits of colored string. Carefully Jim took hold of one and gave a little pull.

“You’d better not do that. The string may be around something real small and you’ll lose it,” Bob suggested, but before the words were out of his mouth, the entire contents was in Jim’s hand. “What do you make of that?”

“Maybe the kid has been trying to be a Boy Scout. It’s nothing but colored strings full of knots, but it’s a queer sort of string at that. I never saw anything like it—”

“You’d better put it back,” Bob urged. “It isn’t any good, but if the kid was having fun with it, we don’t want to be goops—” Both boys turned quickly as they heard the sound of oars being plied swiftly as if someone were rowing in a great hurry. “He’s coming back.” Hastily Jim stuffed the odd looking string back into its container and snapped the lid shut.

“Wish I hadn’t been such an inquisitive boob,” he muttered. By that time the boy and his uncle had almost reached the spot, and both of them seemed to be anxious about something.

“Did you drop a little box here?” Bob called as the boy leaned on the oars to let the boat come ashore. Corso’s face lighted with relief, as if the thing they had lost were of great value.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“Well, that’s good. We just picked it up.” Jim stepped hastily forward and restored the find to its owners, but to his surprise, they both leaped out.

“Much sirs, we thank you.” The man took Jim’s hand, and to that pure young American’s utter embarrassment, stooped and kissed it. Hastily he drew it back.

“Aw, that’s all right,” he said in confusion.

“Glad we saw it before the waves carried it off,” Bob declared. He was congratulating himself that it was his step-brother who received the homage, but his delight was short-lived, for the boy took his hand and performed as did his uncle.

“Much thanks, Bob—Jim,” he said chokily.

“Aw, it isn’t anything to make a fuss over,” Bob answered quickly, and his face flushed to the roots of his hair. In his heart he was glad that none of the cowpunchers from Cap Rock were there to witness such a display of gratitude.

“Much thanks,” the uncle said again, and the two backed away.

“Don’t mention it,” Jim said hastily. “We have to go, or we’ll be late for lunch. We would have given it to you this afternoon if you hadn’t come for it.” They both bowed low, then sprang into the boat and rowed off, but now their faces were wreathed in smiles and as the distance grew between them and the shore, they began a sort of chant which sounded like the wind sighing through the cedars.

“Come along, let’s get a move on. I don’t want to be kissed any more. Gosh, they must be French,” Bob exclaimed, and the two started to run as if the Old Harry were after them. When they came in sight of the house, they stopped. “I’m not going to tell anyone about that box.”

“Mum’s the word. If we tell about finding it, we’ll have to tell about giving it back. Perhaps it’s some sort of heirloom, but it sure is a queer sort of thing to make such a fuss over.”

“I’ll say, maybe now that we gave it back, Corso and the boy will be friendly and we can ask them where they came from—”

“Maybe we can, but we’re not going to be little interrogation points unless they give us the information without our asking for it. Dad says a gentleman recognizes another gentleman and they treat each other accordingly—”

“Well, that’s O. K. with me,” Bob nodded. “But I thought we might get an answer to one of the mysteries.”