“Why Hope Haven?” asked Rob reflectively, when he had taken inventory of the possibilities of the resort.

“Because,” sighed Silvia, “so many hopes––vacation hopes––must have been buried here.”

Rob was of an investigating turn of mind, however, and he had heard from a native of H. H., as he had abbreviated the place, that there was a smaller lake, abounding 92 in fish, farther on through the forest. It was so strongly fortified, however, by the formidable battalions of sharp-shooting insects that but few fishermen had ever been able to lay siege to it.

Rob and I being poison proof decided to try our luck and pitch camp for a few days on the shores of this hidden treasure. As we had to send to town by the stage driver for the necessary supplies, we remained in H. H. the remainder of the day.

We at once paired off in Noah’s most approved style as Rob had outlined. Beth and Ptolemy went up shore, sticks and stones and rocks being no obstacles to their feet. Rob and I sought the society of the snakes, while Silvia and Diogenes, mosquito-netted, watched a game of croquet.

We dined without the pleasure of the society of Ptolemy and Diogenes, who had been invited to sit at the table with the 93 landlady’s children. I might state, incidentally, that the invitation was never repeated.

Beth was quite excited over her walk.

“Ptolemy and I,” she boasted, “made more of a discovery than Mr. Rossiter did. We found a haunted house, a perfectly haunted house.”

“I am not surprised,” declared Silvia. “You couldn’t expect any other kind of a house in such a region.”

“Where is it?” I asked, “and what is it haunted by?”

“Insects,” suggested Silvia.

“You go around shore about two miles, only it’s farther, as you have to make so many ups and downs over the rocks. Then you leave the shore and go through a low marshy stretch, sort of a Dismal Swamp, and then up a hill. After Ptolemy and I climbed to the top, we looked 94 down and saw, hidden in a clump of lonely looking poplars, a small, rudely built house. We went down to explore and had hard work making our way through a thick growth of––everything. We crawled under some tangled vines and came up on the steps. The house was vacant, although there were a few old pieces of furniture––a couple of cots, a cook-stove, table, and chairs.

“On our way home we met a woman who gave us a history of the house. An old miser lived there long ago. One night he was robbed and murdered, and his ghost still haunts the place. No one ventures in its vicinity, and she said most likely we were the first people who had gone there since the tragedy. She told us of a nearer way to reach it. You take the road to Windy Creek, and about two miles below here, turn into a lane and 95 then go through a grove and over a hill.”

“You don’t really believe the story, that is, the ghost part of it?” asked Rossiter.

“N––o,” allowed Beth. “Still, I’d like to. It makes it interesting. Ptolemy and I are going down there some night to see if we can find the ghost.”

“You won’t see one,” I assured her. “Ptolemy’s presence would be sufficient to keep even a ghost in the background.”

“Ptolemy’s a peach,” declared Beth emphatically.

“If he were older, you wouldn’t think so,” said Rob.

“Why not?” asked Beth in surprise, or seeming surprise.

He smiled enigmatically, and irrelevantly asked her if she wouldn’t really be afraid to go to the haunted house at night with only Ptolemy for protection.

She assured him she shouldn’t be afraid of a ghost if she saw one, and that she shouldn’t be afraid to go alone.

Throughout the evening, which we spent in rowing, walking, and later at a little impromptu supper, I was interested in observing the puzzling behavior of Beth and my chum. I had expected that he would avoid her as much as possible and speak to her only when common politeness made conversation obligatory, and that she, a born coquette, would seek to add his scalp to her collection. Instead, to my surprise, their rÔles were reversed. He appeared interested in her every remark and looked at her often and intently. He was quite assiduous in his attentions which, strange to say, she discouraged, not with the deep design of a flirt to increase his ardor, but with a calm firmness that admitted of no doubt as to her feelings.

“Your sister,” he remarked to me as we were walking down to the lake for a swim just before going to bed, “is a very unusual type.”

“Not at all!” I assured him. “Beth is the true feminine type which you have never taken the trouble to know.”

“Oh, come, Lucien! Not feminine, you know. Though she is inconsistent.”

I resented the imputation hotly, but he only laughed and said that he guessed it was true that a man didn’t understand the women in his family as well as an outsider did.

“You think,” I said, “just because she says she isn’t afraid of ghosts––”

“Not at all,” he denied. “That wasn’t the reason, but––I like her type, though I always supposed I wouldn’t. It is a new one to me––anyway. I didn’t think so young a girl as she––”

Our discussion was cut short by the inevitable, ever-present Ptolemy, who came running up to us, clad in about four inches of swimming trunks.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” I demanded.

“I was in bed, but it was so warm I couldn’t sleep, and I went to the window and saw you coming down here, so I thought I’d come, too.”

I repeated Rob’s remarks to Silvia when I returned to our room, and she betrayed Beth’s confidences in regard to Rob.

“She says she would like him if it were not for one trait that she dislikes more than any other in a man and that it was sufficient in her estimation to counterbalance all his good qualities.”

“What can she mean?” I asked bewildered. “I don’t see a flaw in Rob, except for his being a woman-hater, and he surely hasn’t betrayed that fact to her, 99 judging from his manner toward her. I think he is making an effort to be nice to her on my account, and she doesn’t appreciate it.”

“I asked her what the flaw was, and she flushed and said she couldn’t tell me.”

“Well, I guess all around it is a good thing we are going off on our fishing expedition. I don’t want my friend turned down by my sister, and I don’t want my friend calling my sister a new type and unfeminine.”