A little more than a mile from the outermost homes of Ogleport, in a direct line, lay Skanigo Lake.

A beautiful sparkling sheet of water was Skanigo, and it always mixed itself up, somehow, with Puff Evans’s ideas of Paradise; but the Rev. Dr. Solomon Dryer could never forget his great attempt, one December “examination day,” to obtain a physical description of it from Zebedee Fuller.

Not, however, because his questions were not fully and accurately answered, somewhat as follows:

“Of what shape is Skanigo Lake, Master Fuller?”

“Round, sir.”

“Round?”

“Yes, sir; ’round among the hills, ’way up, as far as it can go.”“Ah, yes. You do not altogether comprehend my interrogatory. But what profundity does it attain? How deep is it?”

“Varies very much, sir.”

“Exactly. An admirable response. But when is it deepest?”

“In July, sir.”

“July?”

“Yes, sir. No depth at all in winter. Bottom freezes hard and gets on top, sir.”

“We will put you in natural philosophy, next term, Master Fuller. But what are the longitudinal and lateral extent—the width and length, I mean, of Skanigo?”

“Has none, sir.”

“No length or width?”

“No, sir. Puff Evans told me he’d caught everything there was in that lake. All his fault, sir.”

The Baptist and Presbyterian ministers came to Dr. Dryer’s assistance at that point, for they were both good fishermen, and Zebedee escaped from the remaining geography of Skanigo.

In that brief ten minutes, however, he had won the lasting good-will of Euphemia Dryer and the settled enmity of her stepmother.

On the morning after the bell and heifer mystery, no sooner was breakfast over than Bar and Val gathered together their fishing-gear, and were off to make acquaintance with Skanigo for themselves.

The walk was nothing at all, nor was it difficult to find the way to the curiously constructed dwelling of Puff Evans. The land thereabout was the supposed heritage of a non-resident family of “minor heirs,” and Puff had settled himself in a little cove with no more trouble of mind about his lack of title than a wild Indian or a Western “squatter.”

He did no manner of harm. In fact, he had actually “improved” a few acres, managing to have, as Zeb Fuller said: “The kindest-hearted, best-natured crops in the world; the only potatoes ever heard of that did their own hoeing.”

Between his scanty but “good-natured” acres and the liberal bosom of Skanigo, however, Puff succeeded in providing for the natural wants of himself, his very congenial wife, and a swarm of little Puffs, whose only need of clothing, as remarked by Zebedee, was to conceal their fins and scales.

“Pity Puff drinks,” said Zeb to Gershom Todderley one day. “Sometime he’ll make a mistake and bring in those young ones of his, all cleaned, on a string with his other fish. And there won’t one of ’em suspect but what it’s all right. Good pan-fish they’d make, too.”

Bar and Val found Puff down by the waterside, proudly contemplating the very neat proportions and finish of his favorite property.

“It’d ha’ just broke my heart to ha’ lost that there boat,” he said, after exchanging a very enthusiastic greeting with his young visitors. “And now I’d a liked to ha’ gone off with ye, but I’ve made up my mind on somethin’ else for to-day, an’ I don’t see how I kin change it.”

“Don’t change it on our account,” said Bar. “Just tell us where to go, and we’ll take care of ourselves.”

It would have taken the boys a good month to have followed all the directions that Puff gave them, for he hardly stopped talking until they were out of ear-shot. Even then he stood knee-deep in the water by the shore, gazing fondly after the graceful little vessel, as if he half deemed it a breach of faith that he was not on board of her.

“Which way’d we better go, Val?” asked Bar.

“Right up the lake, not far out,” said Val. “Then we can drop anchor and fish for perch while you walk into your Latin.”

“All right,” said Bar.

And all right it was, for the rowing was good fun of itself, and it seemed as if there were new things worth looking at to be seen with every fresh pull at the oars.

“This’ll do,” said Val, at last. “Puff’s put rope enough on this grapnel to anchor anywhere in the lake. He’s fond of deep-water fishing. Pulls up right big ones, sometimes—bass, pickerel, and now and then a lake trout. He says the fish are changing. Somebody put thousands and thousands of young ones in a few years ago.”

“Rope? I should say he had,” remarked Bar. “Did I tell you Mr. Brayton took the bell-rope over to the Doctor’s house?”

“Did he?” said Val. “Wonder if he’s any idea who did all that, or how it was done.”

“I have now,” said Bar. “That heifer came in through one of the basement doors.”“Of course,” said Val; “but they were all barred on the inside.”

“And opened from the inside to let her in. Then it was easy to close ’em all up behind her, fix her horns in the bell-rope and get away.”

“But how did they get in or out?”

“I’ll show you that, too, when we set our own trap for the bell,” said Bar. “I found out when Mr. Brayton and I were going up into the belfry. The rest of them haven’t guessed it, unless Mr. Brayton himself has. If he did, he forgot to tell me.”

“Our trap?” asked Val. “Are we going to set one?”

“Why, Val,” said Bar, “didn’t you hear all they had to say yesterday, about our house being haunted?”

“Yes, and Mrs. Wood didn’t seem to more’n half like it.”

“Well, we can’t help that, you know, but I move we send all the ghosts over into the belfry.”

“Can you do it?” asked Val, with a look of admiring faith at his wonderful companion.

“Yes,” said Bar. “We must take home with us that extra length of anchor-rope. It’s small and strong. Just the thing. Then we must get some bits of wood and a yard or two of canvas, and we can do it.”

“Puff Evans has a regular workshop down by his house,” said Val. “He’s a kind of a genius in his way, if he only knew what work meant.”

“Let’s fish, then,” exclaimed Bar, “and I’ll study hard. We shan’t have an hour to spare.”

It was a curious piece of business, that Latin grammar, lying flat on the seat in front of Bar Vernon, as he sat in the stern of the boat, with his quick eyes glancing from that to the float of his fish-line.

Nevertheless, the pages were turned pretty fast, from time to time, and every now and then a perch or a sunfish would come flopping in over the side of the boat and be promptly transferred to Puff Evans’s well-contrived “fish-car,” just aft of the centre-board. Val, too, sitting at the prow, was getting very fair luck, only that he would lose some of his best bites in watching Bar and wondering what might be the nature of the trap that he was planning for the benefit of the ghosts and the Academy bell.“Do you understand what you’re reading?” he asked, at length.

“Of course not,” replied Bar. “It’s all I can do to remember it. Mr. Brayton doesn’t expect me to understand it at one reading. He told me so.”

“I don’t suppose he expects you to remember it, either,” said Val. “It’s a good deal more than I could do.”

“Don’t know about that,” replied Bar. “Once I understand a thing I’m sure to forget it. Never can repeat it in the same words again.”

It was not very clear to Val’s comprehension, even then, but Bar worked and fished away till there came a long interval during which neither of them had so much as a nibble.

“Sun’s getting too high,” said Val. “That’s what Puff told us. No use to fish any more; we’ve a tip-top string, anyhow.”

“Let’s pull back, then,” said Bar. “I’ve got in all the Latin I can hold, for once. Perhaps we can get Puff to help us.”

“If he only knows it isn’t real work,” said Val. “Tell him it’s play and he’ll work his head off.”The trouble with Puff Evans must have been that he had grown up to be the father of a family without in any manner ceasing to be a boy. There are a good many grown-up people in the same condition, and some of them were not very remarkable boys, either.

On their arrival at the landing, the two friends found Puff waiting for them. He had discerned the return of his treasure at a greater distance than any other man could have made her out, and now he expressed his entire approval of the morning’s catch, except that he mildly deprecated the absence of anything like big fish.

“P’r’aps they’ll bite better for you when they come to know you,” he said encouragingly. “They’re a little strange to your way of fishing yet. Are ye goin’ right back to th’ village?”

“No,” said Bar; “we’ve some fun on hand we want to talk to you about.”

Puff was all ears in a moment, and the result of Bar’s explanation was that the boys were taken over to the workshop at once, while Mrs. Evans began with intense zeal to broil some fresh fish for their noonday meal.

It speedily came out that Puff had indeed a sound reason for denying himself that day’s sport on the water. The experience of the previous day and the suggestions of Pat Murphy that morning had borne quick fruit in the shape of a commencement on another boat.

“I’ve named the old one Mary,” he said, “arter my wife, and I reckon you may name this one.”

“When it’s built,” said Bar. “But it’s a wonder you never thought of it before. You can make money at it.”

“P’r’aps,” said Puff, drily, “but I’d no idea I’d inj’ye it so much as I hev. Might ha’ known it, too. I was jest as happy a-buildin’ the Mary. When a man finds a piece of real work in which he can be just happy, that’s the kind of thing God meant him for most likely, and he’d better go ahead and do it, if he can do it honestly.”

But Bar and Val were too full of their own ideas to linger very long in looking at Puff’s boat, and Bar found his ideas caught up and put into shape with a readiness of perception and a swiftness of execution which altogether surprised him.“You’ll make a perfect job of it,” said Bar. “What do you think it will be worth?”

“Worth?” inquired Puff.

“Yes,” said Bar. “What are we to pay you for it?”

“Why,” replied Puff, with a darkening brow, “didn’t you tell me it was a big joke on Ogleport?”

“Yes,” began Bar.

“And ain’t I to hev any sheer o’ the fun?” asked Puff. “Besides, I’m on hand for anything you two fellers are up to. I owe ye all the good turns in the world. Jest don’t you say anythin’ more about pay, or you’ll spile it all.”

“We won’t, then,” said Bar, for it was easy to see that Puff was beginning to feel hurt; and at that moment Mrs. Evans appeared at the door of the shop to tell them dinner was ready.

So were the boys, for fishing and rowing on Skanigo were fine things for young appetites, and before that meal was over, it became clear that some more fish would have to be caught if they meant to carry anything like a respectable string home with them. They did that, however, and they carried something else more than halfway.