“This is certainly one wonderful time to me,” remarked Virgie to Isabel. “Lobster and clams on Tuesday, either a trip or something going on every minute since, and now this picnic to the boys’ island. I have to shake myself sometimes and say ‘remember the Maine’ or something for fear I’ll get spoiled. And G. G. G. G. again next year!”

“Explain your abbreviations; something to do with Greycliff, I suppose.”

“Yes; Greycliff Gay, Grand and Glorious. Won’t we be in fine trim for the sports there? We girls never half appreciated our privileges there.”

“It takes camp life to wake us up, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Then, of course, there are so many other things that you have to do at school.”

“A few lessons, for instance.”

“And I have too much sense to tire myself out on athletics and not get those lessons. I say to myself every so often ‘Virginia Hope, here is your chance to learn something; don’t miss it!’”

“Miss Randolph has the right idea. Do you remember how she says to us once in a while ‘Take the hard courses, girls. Make your minds work and you will never regret it’?”

“I’m going to have school and a little athletics during the year, and camp in the summer, with lots of it, if I can, after this.”

About ten o’clock the girls started for Boothbay. As this was a very popular picnic, held annually, nobody but a few councillors remained at home. The boats went down the river with the girls singing as usual, the weather propitious, young hearts gay.

“Shall we have a visit with Campbell, Hilary?” asked June, who had been quite taken with the young man.

Lilian glanced roguishly at Hilary, who had replied soberly to June. “Yes, perhaps so, but I think that he will be quite busy with the entertaining and all.”

“Probably he will have a few minutes for you and Hilary, June,” said Lilian. June perceived that there was some undercurrent of mischief, but not understanding just what, subsided.

“I wish Philip were here,” said Hilary, “don’t you, Lilian?”

“Cathalina’s the one who would wish so the most,” said June, “because he’s her brother.”

“Can’t the rest of us like him too?” asked Hilary, who was rather regretting her blunt retort to Lilian’s teasing.

“O, yes; we all couldn’t help liking Philip, but sisters, of course, are nearest.”

At this the girls smiled and Cathalina said, “I forgot to tell you all about my letter from Philip. I read it in a hurry just before we left. Somebody must have brought up some mail late last night, because I looked just before we went to our klondike and there was nothing for any of us in the box. He wrote that he met Lilian’s brother in New York the other day. They just happened to be at lunch at the same place and were eating away without knowing each other, when in walked Judge North, and sat down by Dick, saying that he found he could get away from somewhere after all. Then he spied Philip and Philip saw him. They had met at Rochester, you know. Dick is reading law with his father, isn’t he, Lilian?”

“Yes. Our families seem to meet by chance, don’t they?”

“Philip said that he is a fine fellow. He took Dick and the Judge out home later for dinner, and Father and the Judge had a great talk over the war, politics, business and everything. I say ‘Dick’ as if I knew your brother, Lilian, but Philip called him that in the letter and I have heard you speak of him so for so long. I wouldn’t think of addressing him so familiarly.”

“We have been trying to call him ‘Richard’ lately, since he is so grown up, but can’t remember to do it.”

“‘Richard’ is prettier,—‘Richard North’,” commented Cathalina.

“Dick wrote me a little scribble, too,” said Lilian. “I was so surprised, because I rarely hear from him. We get news of each other through Mother, of course. He said that next to Mother, Mrs. Van Buskirk was the most lovely woman he ever met.”

Cathalina looked pleased at this. “O, isn’t that nice? and that he is so loyal to his own mother, too.”

“You must meet our mother, Cathalina, and it would be nice if they knew each other.” Lilian did not mention that she, too, had heard from Philip. She intended to tell both Cathalina and Hilary, who was now her closest friend, but the conversation in the pine grove, and the letters, were just her own now.

“Here we are at Boothbay. I believe that Thorn Island is the name of the boys’ island. We are going around to the other dock, aren’t we? These are certainly high rocks. What a great old river the Kennebec is! Where’s our little Canadian warbler?—O, Betty!”

Betty had been sitting up in front with Marion and Frances, but joined Cathalina as soon as they landed.

The boys and their councillors had made great plans for the entertainment of the girls. The picnic meal was at noon, instead of the later time when it was celebrated at Merrymeeting. With great gallantry the boys waited upon the girls, who enjoyed every minute. The girls had been reminded by their head councillor that morning at breakfast that they should show their appreciation of the courtesies offered at Boothbay, and that they should consider how much easier it always was for the girls to accept attentions than it was for the younger and shy boys to offer them.

In the afternoon the boys played a “left-hand” game of baseball with the girls, then staged a regular game, at which the girls rooted impartially for both teams. There were also some singles and doubles in tennis, which showed the boys’ skill. It must be admitted that in athletics the boys are usually ahead. But the girls did not mind being beaten, even when the boys were compelled to use their left hands to throw and catch, and the boys admitted that the girls played well, “for girls”.

Not until after the cafeteria dinner did Campbell have time to visit with Hilary, on whom, however, he quite often kept an eye. But when the games were in progress, he came up and asked her to take a stroll around with him. This singling out of Hilary did not pass unnoticed by the other girls, and Hilary knew that she might come in for a good share of teasing from the Merrymeeting company. But so far there was only good comradeship between Hilary and Campbell, at least, so far as any expression of feeling was concerned. Both were quite young, with some school years before them and life purposes to be worked out.

“O, Campbell,” called June as Hilary and Campbell passed a group of the younger boys and girls who were playing a game. “Tell me more about the hunters’ cabin before we go, will you?”

“All I know is what I told you the other day. Ask Jack here. She wants to hear those smuggler and pirate stories, Jack, that the boys were telling.”

“O, could you tell me, Jack?”

Jack was a bright-eyed youngster of about fourteen years, who was usually ashamed to be seen talking to a girl. But in his enforced position as host it was different. Several of the boys and girls immediately sat down upon the big rock near to hear or help tell the story.

“Who told it in the first place, Jack?” asked one of the boys, a little fellow of some nine years.

“A boy last year was telling the first I ever heard about this country. I think he made it up, because he told us the awfullest yarns all the time about ghosts and pirates and everything; but it was fun to listen, and we all added to it.”

“Come on and tell, Jack.” June was sitting with her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, ready to listen in breathless interest.

“All right. You know that cabin up at Merrymeeting doesn’t look very old, does it?”

“No. It’s made of shingles, isn’t it? Seems so silly to try to have a story like that one about it.”

“Well, that wasn’t the original cabin, according to Tom’s story, but built on the same place where the old smuggler’s cabin stood. And somewhere around there his treasure is buried, under the cabin, in the cracks of some of the rocks and ledges, or maybe some tree has grown over the place. He was a terrible old fellow, a sort of retired pirate, I guess, and Tom said that the smuggler used to live along the Kennebec and knew that it would be a good place to hide his stores and treasures. So he built this cabin, the old one, I mean. He would be gone for months and then his old boat would come up the Kennebec in the night when the tide was coming this way from the sea. And he’d drag old sacks full of something from the boat to the cabin. He was so fierce looking that everybody was afraid of him and if any boat was on the river when he came along they’d get out of the way or hide somewhere till he had passed. Once somebody heard horrible groaning from his boat,—”

“O, Jack!” It was getting too vivid for June.

“One time some people with some officers went to see what there was in the cabin, while the old man was away. But they only found the bunks and some food and an old chest with clothes in it.”

“Perhaps he just had food in the sacks and ate it up while he stayed at the cabin,” suggested practical June.

“Yes. Perhaps he wasn’t a pirate. And perhaps he was,” said Jack. “You just listen now. This is what Tom told. One night in a rainstorm a boy that lived on a farm near the river came to shore in a canoe, because he couldn’t get home in the wind and bucking the tide. The waves were just dashing every way by the time he got into the Merrymeeting Bay, and pretty soon the canoe went plump, crash, bang, smash, right on the rocks near the cove. But of course the boy could swim and he kept up a minute or two, when he was carried back from the rocks by the water, and finally he crawled up on shore. It was in the days of Indians, and he was afraid of being found by some of them that were not friendly or had had too much fire-water, so he got among the bushes first. Then he saw a light in the cabin, shining through cracks, and crept up, real still, to see if he dared go in. There he saw the old pirate, or smuggler, whatever he was, taking jewelry out of the chest. It flashed and sparkled and the old man chuckled and chortled, as he ran the jewels through his fingers. They always do that in stories, you know,” and Jack laughed.

“This is a fine story,” said Jo, while Dot said, “O, I hope he didn’t kill the boy!” and snuggled closer to June.

“Then the boy made a little noise, accidentally, stepped on a stick or something, and the old man whisked the things into the chest, caught up his gun, looked to see if his long knife was at his belt and ran out. The boy was so scared that he scrambled up on a ledge and climbed a tree, while the wicked old pirate hunted around, and growled to himself, and said, ‘Nobuddy’d better come a-spyin’ on me! Nobuddy’d better come a-spyin’ on me! I’ll give his bones to the fishes!’”

Jack told this part of the story with relish, while June, Jo and Dot, with the rest of the little girls, kept big eyes on him and in imagination sat in the tree with the boy of long ago.

“Did he catch the boy?”

“No; I guess he thought it must have been a bear or some other animal. He went back into his cabin and barred up the door, and after a while the boy saw the light go out. It had been shining through the chinks, you know.”

“What else?”

“Nothin’, except that the boy waited a while and slipped down from the tree and got away from there as soon as he could. He had an awful time getting home through the wood, afraid of meeting a bear, and he didn’t have his gun, of course, had lost his canoe and everything in it. By good luck he was on the mainland, and walked home. They used to tramp around so much and so far that I imagine that wasn’t much to him. We can hike a good distance ourselves, you know.”

“The Indians really used to come to Merrymeeting, you know,” said Dot.

“O, yes, and maybe this old smuggler or pirate traded with ’em. But they say that he buried a lot of treasure up there and that his ghost was seen hunting around and whispering in a hollow voice, ‘Four from the pine tree, Ten from the ledge, Six grey stones at the water’s edge!’”

“Whoever made that up,” laughed one of the boys, “got up a good one, for there are about a million pine trees more or less, and all the stones along the bay are grey ones, I guess, to say nothing of all the ledges of rock and stone along there!”

“I’ll remember that,” said Dot, “when we start digging!”

“It’s a great yarn,” said Jack.