“He’s gone crazy,” muttered Grant. “We should have held him back.”

On tip-toe and evidently trying to make as little noise as possible, George stole forward. Nearer and nearer he approached, the pillows still held firmly in his hands. He slackened his pace as he came closer and redoubled his efforts to move cautiously.

“They’ll turn and see him in a second,” whispered Fred, as much to himself as to anybody else. All three of the boys were tense with excitement as they riveted their attention on their companion who to them was doing such a remarkable thing.

George was scarcely ten feet distant from the men now. All at once he stopped. He slowly drew back his right arm and taking careful aim he let fly the pillow which he held. True to its mark it sped. It struck the larger of the two men squarely in the neck. The second pillow followed the other an instant later and it too scored a hit. Both had been aimed at the same man.

No sooner had George completed his bombardment than he uttered a wild whoop and rushed forward. He dashed straight towards the man he had been so successful in hitting and threw both arms around him.

Grant, Fred, and John were too taken aback to do more than stand and gaze stupidly at the strange proceedings taking place before their eyes. George’s actions to them were a complete mystery.

Suddenly he ceased hugging the rough looking man he had pounced upon so eagerly and turned to his three camp-mates.

“Grant!” he cried. “John! Fred! Come here and see who this is.”

“Who is it?” exclaimed John blankly. “Thomas and Hugh?”

“Here’s your father, Fred,” called George loudly. “Don’t you want to see him?”

Fred started violently at these words. He stared ahead of him and then suddenly gave vent to a wild shriek.

“Dad!” he cried and rushing pell mell down the gradual incline he threw himself upon the smaller of the two “tramps.”

“Why it’s Mr. Button and Mr. Sanders,” exclaimed Grant in surprise. “Where do you suppose they came from?”

“All dressed up to look like tramps,” added John. “What do you suppose they are trying to do?”

“Play a joke on us, I guess,” laughed Grant. “Lets go down and see them.”

They soon joined the little group gathered underneath the tree and a happy gathering it was.

“What do you think of these two tramps, Grant?” inquired George when greetings had been exchanged all around.

“What do you think of a boy who would hit his poor old father in the back of the neck with two big pillows?” laughed Mr. Sanders. “That strikes me as pretty rough treatment.”

“It surely is,” agreed Grant. “We usually take him down and duck him when he gets fresh that way.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Mr. Sanders sorrowfully. “He has gotten so husky this summer I’d hate to tackle him now.”

“We didn’t know you were coming up here,” said Fred, addressing his father and Mr. Sanders.

“And we didn’t want you to know it either,” laughed Mr. Button. “We planned a surprise for you.”

“You gave it to us all right,” said John grimly. “We were sure you were two thugs of some kind who had come up here to rob us.”

“How do you like our costumes?” demanded Mr. Sanders jovially. “Do we really look like a couple of desperate characters?”

“You certainly do, Dad,” said George. “I never saw worse.”

“How did you dare to throw those big heavy pillows at me then?”

“I recognized you right away, even from the back. You need a pretty good disguise to fool your son you know.”

“So it seems,” admitted Mr. Sanders and he rubbed the back of his neck ruefully.

“Didn’t you see us coming?” asked John.

“No,” said Mr. Button. “We arrived here about twenty minutes ago and didn’t find a soul around anywhere. So we just made ourselves at home and decided we’d have a little luncheon.”

“I saw one of you duck behind the tent,” said George. “Then when we didn’t see you again it sort of worried us. Imagine how we felt when we saw these two rough looking men sitting under the tree here.”

“Where had you boys been?” asked Mr. Sanders.

“We went out to shoot a blue heron,” said Grant. “Ask George about it; he’ll be glad to tell you all the details,” and he nudged John who was standing next to him.

“I was the goat all right,” laughed George, and he proceeded to recount the story of how he and Fred had tried to put up a game on Grant but had had the tables turned on them.

The tale caused much merriment on the part of Mr. Button and Mr. Sanders. Curiously enough these two men happened to be the fathers of the boys who had been the victims of their own joke.

“It served them right, Grant,” laughed Mr. Button. “I hate these practical jokers and am always glad to see them fooled. I notice it usually happens that way too.”

The party had moved up to a spot directly in front of the tent now and all were seated in a circle on the ground. The day was waning and the sun was beginning to sink low in the western sky. A gray haze hung over the surrounding hills and forests. A strong wind blew off the lake.

“You know that breeze is cold,” exclaimed Mr. Button with a slight shiver, and he drew his coat closer about him.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” demanded Mr. Sanders. “It’s almost fall now and the summer is practically over.”

“I know it is,” exclaimed George. “I hate to think of it too.”

“You’ve had a good time up here, have you?” inquired Mr. Button.

“Wonderful,” replied all the young campers with one accord.

“You certainly look so,” laughed Mr. Sanders. “You’re as tanned as a lot of Indians and you look just about as wiry.”

“It’s been great fun,” said John. “We’ve been out in the air all summer and on the water so much we ought to be healthy.”

“We’ll have to come back here again next summer,” exclaimed George. “What do you say to that, Dad?”

“Personally I should think you’d rather go to some other place next time. I like different experiences myself.”

“So do I,” agreed Grant. “There are so many wonderful places and things in the world that it’s worth trying to visit and see all of them you can, I think.”

“That suits me,” exclaimed George. “What do you say, Dad? We’ll go to some other place next time.”

“As far as I’m concerned you may,” said Mr. Sanders. “Go ahead.”

THE END