sang the Captain in a quavering baritone, as he stirred the hominy cooking in a kettle swung over a wood fire in the “kitchen” on Ellen’s Isle.

“Oh, I say, look out, you’re getting ashes into it,” called Katherine warningly, looking up from her little “toast fire” nearby, where she was crisping slices of bread held on the end of a forked stick.

Katherine and the Captain were cooks that morning and had the job of getting breakfast while the rest took an early dip in the lake. It was the first week in July. Three days ago Ellen’s Isle was an uninhabited wilderness and the only sound which broke the stillness of its dark woods was the rushing of the wind in the pine trees, or the lapping of the water on the little beach. Moreover, it bore the plebian name of Murphy’s Island, after the president of the ill-fated Mineral Spring Water Company. Then one day had changed everything. A procession of boats had set out from St. Pierre, the little town on the mainland, which was the nearest 16 stop of the big lake steamer, headed straight for Murphy’s Island and unloaded its cargo and crew on the beach, who formally took possession of the island by setting up a flag in the sand right then and there.

The invading fleet was composed of two launches, one very large and one smaller; five rowboats fastened together and towed by the one launch, and five canoes towed by the other. The crew comprised two men and two women, six merry-eyed girls and six jolly boys. The explorers had evidently come to stay. They immediately set about raising tents and nailing down floor boards, clearing spaces for fires and setting up pot hangers, repairing the landing pier and setting up a springboard, and in a hundred other ways making themselves at home. Two tents were set up at each end of the island; these were the sleeping tents, one pair for the men and boys and the other for the women and girls. These were completely hidden from each other by the thick trees in between, but the dwellers in one settlement could make those in the other hear by shouting.

Besides these tents another larger one was set up in a little open space; this was the kitchen and dining room for bad weather use. In fair weather the campers always ate outdoors. They cooked over open fires as much as possible, because driftwood was plentiful, but there were two gasoline stoves and two alcohol heaters in the kitchen tent. The outdoor 17 kitchen was just outside the indoor kitchen, and consisted of a bare spot of ground encircled by trees. The “big cook stove” was two logs about ten feet long, laid parallel to each other about a foot apart. The space between the logs was for the “frying fire,” and the ease with which a whole row of pans balanced themselves and cooked their contents to a turn in record time gave proof of its practicability. 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!”

18“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 mediÆval 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 19 the buffeting of wind and waves. Looking south from the island the eye was greeted only by a wide waste of waters; the seemingly endless waters of Lake Huron. This was the place where the Winnebagos and the Sandwiches, with Mr. and Mrs. Evans and Uncle Teddy and Aunt Clara, had come to spend the summer.

Katherine finished making the toast, and stacking it up in a tempting pile she set the plate in the hot ashes to keep warm while she turned her attention to mixing the corn fritter batter.

“Want me to help fry?” offered the Captain obligingly. “It’ll take you a year to do enough for sixteen people.”

“Indeed, and I’m not thinking of frying the batter,” replied Katherine, breaking the corner off a piece of toast and sampling it. “There are four frying pans; that’s one to every four persons; they can each fry their own with neatness and dispatch. I belong to the Society for the Prevention of Leaving It All to the Cook! Blow the horn there, that’s part of the Second Cook’s job.”

“What’s the matter with the family this morning?” she asked when the first blast had echoed itself away without any other reply. “They don’t seem to be in any great hurry for breakfast.” The Captain blew several more long, lusty blasts, which were answered by shouts from different directions of the compass.

20“Now they’ll be here in a minute,” said Katherine, turning to look at the lake, which was her chief delight these days. “Oh, look!” she cried. “The gulls are coming already! I believe they heard the horn and know what it means.” The white birds were flying down on the beach in large numbers patiently waiting for the scraps, which would be thrown to them when the meal was finished. Katherine and the Captain watched them with interest and delight. A crunching sound behind them made them turn quickly and there they saw Sandhelo calmly helping himself to the toast on the plate.

“Shoo! Get out!” cried Katherine, snatching the plate away and pelting him with pine cones and lumps of dirt. Sandhelo licked his lips and regarded her benevolently, but never a step did he take. Then he sat up on his haunches and begged for more toast by waving his forefeet. He was perfectly irresistible and Katherine just had to give him another piece. The hungry campers reached the spot in time to witness the performance and protested vigorously against having their breakfast devoured by a donkey.

“First come, first served,” remarked Katherine. “Sandhelo always comes the minute the horn blows and that’s more than the rest of you do. Sit down, and help yourselves to batter. The grease is already in the pans. You can each fry your own fritters.”

21“I refuse to fritter away my time,” said Uncle Teddy, hungrily helping himself to hominy.

The rest made a grand rush for the frying pans and in a few minutes the fryers were retiring to the sidelines with golden brown cakes on their plates.

“How do they taste?” asked Katherine modestly of the Bottomless Pitt, who had his mouth full.

“A bit thick,” replied Pitt, “but bully.”

“They don’t taste just like those Aunt Clara made the other day,” said Gladys, chewing her mouthful somewhat doubtfully.

Aunt Clara hastily took an experimental bite. “Why, Katherine!” she exclaimed with a little shriek of laughter, “you haven’t put any baking powder in them. I thought mine looked awfully flat when I was frying it. Did you think the dough would rise of itself, like the sun?”

And then they all laughed uproariously at Katherine’s cooking, but she didn’t mind at all, and calmly mixed the baking powder with a little more flour and stirred it into the batter, whereupon it blossomed out into the most delicious corn fritters they had ever eaten.

“Too bad Harry had to miss this,” said the Captain, looking around at the family sitting on stumps and eating their second and improved edition of fritters. Harry Raymond was the only one of the Sandwich boys who could not come along on this camping trip. All the rest were there; the Captain, Slim, 22 the Bottomless Pitt, Munson McKee, popularly known as the Monkey, Dan Porter and Peter Jenkins, all ready for the time of their lives. The Winnebagos were also six in number: Gladys, Hinpoha, Sahwah, Migwan, Katherine and Nakwisi.

Last but not least of the campers was Sandhelo, the “symbolic” donkey. He had been brought along because they thought he might be useful for carrying supplies if they should want to go on a long hike. He was so small and nimble that he could go up and down the path to the beach without any trouble. It was not necessary to tie him, as it was impossible for him to run away, and the first night he wandered into the boys’ tent and brayed into Slim’s ear, who gave such a startled jump that his bed went down over the side of the flooring, and Slim landed on the ground outside. After that Sandhelo was tied at night, but allowed to roam the island by day.

After breakfast the campers scattered to amuse themselves in various ways, but it was not long before they heard the sound of the tom-tom, which one of the boys had made to be beaten as a signal to call them all together. Uncle Teddy was beating the tom-tom and he stood on a large, flat rock close to the edge of the bluff. This rock had been named the Council Rock by the Winnebagos as soon as they laid eyes on it.

“Be seated, everybody,” said Uncle Teddy when 23 they had all arrived. “We are about to have a family council. I have just thought of a method of organization for the company while we are together here. We will be a tribe.”

“A real Indian tribe? Oh, goody!” cried Sahwah, jumping up and upsetting Gladys, who was sitting at her feet. “You can be the Big Chief.”

“Uncle Teddy will be the Big Chief!” they all echoed.

Uncle Teddy pounded on the tom-tom for silence, boom, boom!

“Hear and attend and listen!” he said. “If Mr. Evans hadn’t brought us up here there wouldn’t have been any tribe, so being in a sense the founder of the tribe he ought to be the chief.”

“But I didn’t propose bringing you all up here,” confessed Mr. Evans, “it was Mrs. Evans. So she’s the founder of the tribe, and, therefore, the Chief.”

“But I only said we’d come if Aunt Clara St. John would come along and help me look after the girls, because I didn’t feel equal to the responsibility myself,” said Mrs. Evans hastily. “So the founding of the tribe depended upon Aunt Clara.”

It was the most amusing situation they had ever faced, and the whole tribe laughed themselves red in the face while each one of the four candidates for the position of leader insisted that it belonged by right to one of the others. After half an hour’s arguing the question back and forth they were no 24 nearer a solution, when suddenly Katherine reached out and struck the tom-tom a resounding boom, boom, which was the signal that she had something to say.

“Why don’t all four of you be chiefs?” she suggested, when they had turned to her expectantly. “Four chiefs in a tribe ought to be four times as good as one. You each have an equal claim.”

“Fine!” cried the Winnebagos.

“Bully!” echoed the Sandwiches.

“Speech from the Chiefs!” cried Katherine, delighted that her suggestion had found such immediate favor. “You first, Mrs. Evans.”

“But,” protested Mrs. Evans, “it seems to me we four have no better right to be Chiefs than you girls. If you hadn’t wanted to come camping there wouldn’t have been any tribe at all. It seems to me the Winnebago girls have the best right to be chiefs of any here.”

“We haven’t any better claim than the Sandwich boys,” said Katherine. “If it hadn’t been for them there wouldn’t have been any Uncle Teddy or Aunt Clara to help you so you would feel equal to the responsibility of bringing us up here.”

“That settles it,” said Uncle Teddy. “If we all have an equal right to be Chief of this tribe, by all means let us enjoy our rights and all be Chiefs. There are sixteen of us. We intend to remain up here eight weeks. Dividing up and giving each one 25 a turn we would have a different pair of leaders every week. There are equal numbers of men and women and girls and boys, so the arrangement is just about ideal. Every week we will have a high council meeting on this rock where all questions of moment will be considered. The Chiefs will preside at the meeting.

“They will also blow the rising horn, sit at the head of the table, say grace, serve the food, pat the chokers on the back and see to it that Slim does not eat past the bursting point. The Chiefs will also lead the singing in the pine grove every morning after breakfast. They will settle all disputes according to the best of their ability, and will plan the Principal Diversions for the week. These latter will be announced at the Council Meetings. Needless to say, the Chiefs will do no menial labor during the week of their Chiefhood. Is that a fair proposition all the way around?”

“It surely is!” they all cried together. “Hurray for the tribe of Chiefs!”

A schedule of the order in which they would take their turns was quickly written on a sheet of birchbark with an indelible pencil and tacked to a big pine beside the Council Rock. It was as follows: First week, Uncle Teddy and Aunt Clara; second week, Mr. and Mrs. Evans; third week, Katherine and the Captain; fourth week, Hinpoha and Slim; fifth week, Gladys and the Bottomless Pitt; sixth 26 week, Sahwah and the Monkey; seventh week, Migwan and Peter Jenkins; eighth week, Nakwisi and Dan Porter.

As soon as the Chiefs for that week were established, Uncle Teddy was immediately besieged with questions in regard to the Principal Diversion. “It’s a–oh, my gracious!” said Uncle Teddy, catching himself hastily and winking mysteriously at Mr. Evans. “It’s a secret!” And not another word would he say.

Soon afterward he and Mr. Evans prepared to take a trip in the launch.

“Where are you going?” casually inquired the Captain, who had followed them down the hill.

“Oh, just over to St. Pierre to get some supplies,” replied Uncle Teddy in an offhand manner.

“Want any help?” asked the Captain wistfully. He was just in the mood for a ride across the lake this morning with his two adored friends.

“Not at all, thank you,” said Uncle Teddy, hurriedly starting the engine and backing the launch away from the shore. “You look after the camp in our absence.” And the launch leapt forward and carried them out of speaking distance.

It was nearly dinner time and the men had not yet returned. The potatoes were done, the corn chowder had been taken from the fire, and the cooks and hungry campers sat on the edge of the high bluff 27 looking toward St. Pierre to see if the launch were in sight.

“There’s something coming now,” said the Captain, who was the most far-sighted of the group, “but it doesn’t look like a launch; it looks like a sailing vessel. That can’t be our men.”

“There’s a launch just ahead of it,” said Sahwah a moment later.

“There is,” agreed the Captain, “and, sure enough, it’s towing the other thing, the sailing vessel. That is our launch, see the Stars and Stripes floating over the bow and the girls’ green flag at the back? Oh, mercy, what are they bringing us?”

“I’m going down on the landing,” said Sahwah, unable to restrain herself any longer. She raced down the path, followed closely by the girls and boys and at a more dignified pace by Mrs. Evans and Aunt Clara.

“Look what it is!” cried Gladys to her mother when she arrived on the scene. The launch was just heading in toward the pier. “It’s a war canoe!”

“With sails!” echoed Sahwah, nearly falling off the pier in her excitement.

It was, indeed, a war canoe, a beautiful, dark-green body some twenty-five feet long and about three feet at the widest part through the center. The three sails were of the removable kind. Just now they were set and filled out tight with the 28 breeze. The sun glinted on the shining varnish of the cross seats and the paddles lying under them.

There was one great shout of “Oh-h!” from the girls and boys, and then a silence born of ecstasy.

“Here’s the man-of-war!” called Mr. Evans, enjoying to the utmost the pleasure caused by the arrival of the big canoe, “now, where’s the crew?”

“Here, here!” they all cried, tumbling over each other in their haste to get to the landing and into the boat.

“All aboard, my hearties,” cried Uncle Teddy, cutting the canoe loose from the launch and holding it steady against the pier.

“But dinner’s ready,” protested Aunt Clara. “Can’t you wait until afterwards for your ride?”

“Not one minute,” her husband solemnly assured her. “Not one of us will be able to eat a mouthful until we have had a ride on the new hobby horse. Dinners will keep, but new war canoes won’t.”

“You’re as bad as the boys and girls,” said Aunt Clara, shaking her finger at him knowingly. “I believe you want to go worse than any of them.”

“I surely do,” replied Uncle Teddy. “It was all I could do on the way over to keep from climbing over the back of the launch into the canoe and coming home in her.”

“I’m going to be bow paddler,” cried Sahwah, hastily scrambling into the front seat and getting her paddle ready for action.

29“We won’t need much in the paddling line with those sails,” said Uncle Teddy, “but we can be ready in case we become becalmed.”

“‘Become becalmed,’” said Migwan mischievously, “doesn’t that sound as if you had your mouth full of something sticky?”

Uncle Teddy wrinkled up his nose in a comical grimace and ordered her to take her seat in the canoe without any more impudence.

As most of the seats were wide enough for two to sit on there was plenty of room for all sixteen of them. Mrs. Evans hung back at first, but at Aunt Clara’s urging ventured to sit beside her. Uncle Teddy took up the stern paddle and shoved out into the lake; the wind caught the sails, and away went the canoe like a bird. It was wonderful going with the wind, but when they decided it was time to turn around and come home they found that the sails absolutely refused to work backward, so they lowered them and paddled. As the canoe leaped forward under the steady, even strokes, the Winnebagos began to sing:

30They landed reluctantly and ate the long-delayed dinner, discussing all the while what they should name the war canoe.

“Let’s call it the Nyoda,” said Hinpoha. “That would surely please Nyoda. Besides, it’s a fine name for a boat.”

They agreed unanimously that the war canoe should be named Nyoda, and Mr. Evans promised to take it to St. Pierre the next day to have the name painted on her bow. As soon as dinner was over they were out in her again with the sails up, until the ever-stiffening wind made the lake too rough for pleasure. They could hardly land when at last they reached the shore, the canoe plunged so, and Uncle Teddy jumped out and stood in the water up to his waist holding her steady.

“In for a bit of weather, eh?” said Mr. Evans, helping to pull the Nyoda far up on the beach out of harm’s way. The wind was whistling around the corner of the bluffs.

“Just a puff of wind,” replied Uncle Teddy, “but I would advise you all to batten down the hatches, I mean, tie your tent flaps.” As he spoke a white towel came fluttering over the bluff from one of the tents above and went sailing off over the lake. At that they all scattered to make their possessions secure.

All through the afternoon the storm raged. There was no rain, just a steady northwest wind increasing 31 in violence until it had reached the proportions of a gale. High as the cliffs were on three sides of the island, the spray was dashing over the top. When supper time came Aunt Clara called to Uncle Teddy: “Where are the eggs and bread and milk you brought from St. Pierre this morning?”

Uncle Teddy and Mr. Evans both jumped from the comfortable rock on the sheltered beach where they had been sitting watching the storm and blushed guiltily. “We never brought them!” they both exclaimed together. “We were so completely taken up with the business of getting the war canoe from the steamer dock that we forgot all about the supplies.”

“Well, we’ll just have to do without them, but we can’t have the supper we planned,” returned Aunt Clara. “A great Chief you are! Can only think of one thing at a time! I could have brought in a dozen war canoes and never forgotten the affairs of my household.”

“So you could, my dear,” admitted Uncle Teddy cheerfully, and returned unruffled to his contemplation of the tossing lake. By and by he took his binoculars and looked intently at a white spot against the dark waters.

“What is it, Uncle Teddy,” asked Sahwah, straining her eyes to follow his glance.

“Appears to be a sailboat,” said Uncle Teddy, without removing the glass from his eyes. “They’ve 32 taken the sail down, but they’re having a grand time of it out in those waves. They are being driven toward us. Now I can make out a man and a girl and a boy in the boat. Whew-w! What a blast that was!” A dry branch came hurtling down from some tree on the bluff, landing at their feet.

The next moment Uncle Teddy gave an exclamation. “They’re flying distress signals,” he said.

At that the girls and boys all sprang to their feet and crowded around Uncle Teddy excitedly. “What shall we do?” they asked.

“We’ll take the big launch and go out and bring them in,” he answered calmly. “Are you ready, Mr. Evans?”

“Quite so,” said Mr. Evans quietly, buttoning up his coat.

“Oh, let me go along,” begged the Captain.

“Let me go, too,” cried Sahwah, dancing up and down. “May I, Uncle Teddy? You said I might go out with you some time when the lake was rough.”

“Let us all go,” cried the Sandwiches.

Uncle Teddy waved them away. “No, no, what are you thinking of?” he said. “I can’t have the launch full. Besides, it’s too dangerous to go out now. We wouldn’t think of going if it were not for those people out there.” And as he was Chief there was no murmur at his decision.

As quickly as they could, Uncle Teddy and Mr. 33 Evans got the launch under way, and the watchers on the shore held their breaths as the light boat was dashed about on the waves, now climbing to a dizzy height, now sinking out of sight altogether. The sailing boat was in a sad plight when they reached her, for, in addition to being nearly capsized by every wave, she had sprung a leak and was filling gradually in spite of frantic bailing. The launch arrived just in time and took off the three sailors, landing them safely on shore some fifteen minutes later.

The man was dressed in white outing flannels and looked very distinguished in spite of his windblown appearance. The girl and boy were about thirteen years old and looked just alike. Both were pale and thin and had light hair and light blue eyes.

“This is Judge Dalrymple,” said Mr. Evans to the group eagerly waiting on the beach. (They would have guessed that he was at least a judge, anyway; he looked so dignified.) “And these are the twin Dalrymples, Antha and Anthony. Judge, this is my wife and that is Mrs. St. John, and the rest of the folks are the Tribe.”

“We are greatly indebted to your husbands for rescuing us,” said the judge with a courtly bow to the ladies.

“We are very glad they were able to do it,” said Mrs. Evans, “and we welcome you to Ellen’s Isle.”

The Winnebagos and Sandwiches looked with interest 34 at the twins, Antha and Anthony. Antha was paler and thinner than her brother and her mouth had a peevish droop to it. Both looked chilly and scared out of their wits.

“Weren’t you horribly frightened when the boat sprang a leak?” asked Hinpoha.

Anthony immediately swelled out his chest. “No, I wasn’t a bit afraid,” he said grandly. “I’m not a fraidy cat. But she was,” he said, pointing to his sister, “she yelled bloody murder.”

“I didn’t either,” contradicted Antha. “It was you that yelled the loudest and you know it was. Papa told you to keep still.”

“Didn’t either,” declared Anthony.

“Did, too!” said Antha, stamping her foot. “Didn’t he, Papa?” And she interrupted her father right in the midst of his conversation with Mr. Evans.

“Yes, yes, dear,” answered the judge absently, and went on talking.

“There now!” said Antha triumphantly.

“Well, anyway,” went on Anthony, “you yelled as loud as you could yell, and I didn’t.”

Antha promptly burst into tears.

“Cry baby, cry baby,” mocked her brother.

Gladys and Hinpoha bore the weeping Antha away to one of the tents and the Sandwich boys took Anthony under their wing. The storm was still increasing 35 and it was plain that the Dalrymples would have to remain for the night.

“And no eggs or milk or bread for supper,” wailed Aunt Clara. “And we can’t bake anything because the oven won’t heat in this wind.”

“There’s loads of canned spaghetti,” said Gladys, investigating the supplies.

It was rather a hop-scotch meal that was served that night in the billowing supper tent, for, besides the bread and milk and eggs, the men had forgotten the canned beans which Aunt Clara had ordered for future use, but which would have helped admirably in this emergency. Then at the last moment they discovered that the sugar was out. But the hearty appetites of the Tribe were never dismayed at anything, and the spaghetti and unsweetened, black coffee disappeared as if it had been nectar and ambrosia. Judge Dalrymple waved aside Aunt Clara’s profuse apologies for the gaps in the menu and ate spaghetti heartily, but Antha picked at hers with a dissatisfied expression and hardly ate a mouthful. The Winnebagos saw it and were greatly pained because they had nothing better to offer.

“Ho-ho-ho!” scoffed Anthony. “Antha has to eat spaghetti because there isn’t anything else. That’s a good one on her. She never will eat it at home. Ho-ho-ho!” And he grimaced derisively at her across the table. Antha laid down her fork and dissolved in tears again.

36The judge, interrupted in his tale of the afternoon’s experience by the tempest at the other end of the table, turned toward the twins impatiently. “Stop your eternal bickering, you two!” he ordered sharply.

“Then make Anthony stop teasing me!” sniffled Antha.

Just at that moment Gladys, who had been foraging desperately in the “pantry,” came forth with a box of crackers and a small jar of jam, which Antha consented to eat in place of the spaghetti.

They retired soon after supper because it was too windy to light a camp fire and it was no fun sitting around in the dark. Antha fell in the path to the tents, bumping her head and skinning her arm, and cried all the while she was being fixed up. Then she was afraid to go into the tent because it might blow down; she was afraid of the dark, of spiders, of everything. The girls were worn out by the time they had her in bed.

“Isn’t she a prune?” whispered Sahwah to Hinpoha. “I didn’t know a girl could be such a fraidy cat.”

“If she cries any more the tent will be flooded,” whispered Hinpoha in answer. “I never saw anybody cry so much.”

“I don’t want to seem inhospitable,” breathed Gladys behind her hand, “but I hope they won’t have to stay long.”

37But morning brought no letting up of the wind. The dawn showed the waves rolling as high as on the previous night. Breakfast was the same as supper, spaghetti and black coffee, which Antha again refused to touch, finishing the crackers and the jam.

Breakfast over they all raced down to see how the beloved war canoe was faring. She was still safe and sound and looked as wonderful as she did the day before. With pride the boys and girls displayed her to the twins.

“Huh,” said Anthony disdainfully, “that isn’t much of a war canoe. Some boys I know have one twice as big. And theirs has lockers in the ends. Yours hasn’t any lockers, has it?”

They were obliged to admit that the cherished Nyoda carried no lockers.

“You didn’t get much of a war canoe, did you?” said Anthony patronizingly.

“We got the best papa could afford,” replied Gladys mildly.

“Then I guess you’re not very rich, are you?” said Anthony pityingly. “My papa, he’s twice as rich as all of you put together. He’s a judge, and my mother has money in her own right and so have I and so has Antha. And we’ll get more yet when my grandfather dies. I could buy a dozen war canoes if I wanted them, but I don’t want them. I’m going to have a yacht, a steam yacht, so all I have 38 to do is sit on the deck and tell the captain to hustle and put on more speed. That’s the life!”

“It may be the life for you, but not for me,” replied the Captain, throwing stones into the water to relieve his feelings.

Not long after a series of agonized shrieks brought them running from all directions to see Antha racing along the path to the tents in mortal terror, with Sandhelo after her as hard as he could go. She had come across him as he was grazing, and he, seeing a cracker in her hand, had reached out his nose for it, and opened his mouth wide. Thinking he wanted to eat her up, she fled, screaming, while he, still intent on the cracker, followed determinedly. It took an hour’s persuasion, and the combined efforts of all the Winnebagos, to assure her that Sandhelo was not a vicious animal with cannibal tendencies. Even then she would not go within ten feet of him.

Meanwhile, Mr. Evans, showing Judge Dalrymple around the island, came upon the little mineral spring and told him how it had been the means of his coming into possession of the island.

“So that little trickle was all the excuse the famous Minerva Mineral Spring Company had for incorporating and selling stock to the public,” said the judge thoughtfully.

“Yes,” said Mr. Evans, “the whole thing seems to have been a dishonest scheme from the first. But it was handled so cleverly that a great many people 39 were deceived. I was one of the latter, for I lent that company the money to go into business. But, as represented to me, the thing seemed a perfectly good enterprise–they even had signed statements as to the number of bottles the spring would produce yearly. But when the stock had been sold to a large number of unsuspecting people the company suddenly went out of business and then the truth about the spring was discovered. In the lawsuits which followed I was given the island, so I am not so badly off as the people who bought stock and got nothing out of it. I am genuinely sorry for them and feel almost guilty when I think that I furnished the money to start the enterprise, even if I did it in good faith.

“You seem to know a good deal about the case. Do you happen to be acquainted with anyone who lost money in it?”

“I was one of the heaviest stockholders,” said the judge drily.

Mr. Evans whistled.

“But you must not think that I am blaming you for it,” the judge continued hastily, as he saw the distressed look on Mr. Evans’ face. “Besides,” he added, “the service you rendered me by taking my children and myself off the yacht the other day makes me many times your debtor. Let us say no more about the other matter.”

All that day the judge and the junior members 40 of the Tribe watched anxiously for the falling of the wind. The judge was concerned about Mrs. Dalrymple, who had no way of knowing where he and the twins were, and the Winnebagos and Sandwiches had about all they could stand of Antha and Anthony. Besides, the food was getting monotonous. Spaghetti and black coffee again for dinner, which Antha would not eat even though the crackers were gone. But by supper time her hunger got the better of her and she ate spaghetti without a murmur.

“That shows she could have eaten it right away if she wanted to,” whispered Sahwah to Gladys.

That night it thundered and lightninged, and Antha nearly went into hysterics. She hid her head under the bed clothes and wanted them all to do likewise. Katherine snorted with disgust and delivered her mind about people who carried their fears to the verge of silliness. Antha cried some more and the atmosphere in the tent was becoming decidedly damp again when Hinpoha created a diversion by starting a pillow fight.

The next morning the desired change in the wind had come to pass, and the lake was much smoother. With secret sighs of relief the Winnebagos and Sandwiches helped the twins into the launch and waved a heartfelt good-bye.

“I never understood before what they meant by ‘speeding the parting guest,’” said Sahwah, “but 41 now I see it. All speed to the Dalrymple Twins; may they nevermore turn in their track! I never felt that way before, but I just can’t help it!”

And the Winnebagos and Sandwiches privately agreed with her.