"He had a scolding wife," was Pod's reply. "And did you ever hear of the little boy at school whom a visiting gentleman asked if his family ever played baseball?"

"No; starts off like a chestnut, but I've never heard it," said Tom.

"What did bright little Willie say?"

"Bright little Willie said: 'Yes; me and mother play-I bawl and she makes the base hits.'"

At this there was a laugh in which Fleet joined. Noticing Fleet's good humor, they tried again to get him to recite, but he shook his head.

"No; the next time you fellows hear from me you won't be inclined to jolly quite so much," he said.

"Eh? What do you mean by that?" asked Tom.

"Never mind; let's change the subject."

The boys were silent. Could this be their chum who, formerly, had hardly waited to be asked to recite-who would spring eagerly up on the slightest provocation and reel off rhymes by the dozen? They wondered what had come over him, but decided to let the matter drop for the moment.

"Fleet's got something up his sleeve," said Chot, a little later when the boys were preparing for bed and Fleet was, for the moment, out of earshot.

"I suppose we hurt his feelings the other night," said Bert. "We were a little severe."

"But we needed to be," said Tom. "Those were the worst verses he has ever recited. I want to see his work improve, not get worse."

"But you must remember," said Pod, always ready to stick up for Fleet, in spite of their many disagreements, "that no one can recite verses on a minute's notice and keep the standard up all the time. I'll admit that Tom is right about the quality, but we ought to ease up on him now. I believe we have taught him his lesson, so let's give him a chance to forget it, and I don't believe he'll try to run in any more fake rhymes on us."

"Sh! don't let him hear you," said Bert.

Fleet, who had been rummaging in his canoe, was returning and the boys turned the talk into other channels.

They decided to make the rest of the canoe trip by easy stages, so starting early the next morning, they stopped off at Prescott for supplies, and continued on along the north sh.o.r.e to Brockville, where they had dinner.

After leaving Brockville, so many little islands dotted the surface of the river that the boys began to believe they were approaching their destination. These islands continued at intervals all the way to Rockport, fronting which city, late one afternoon, they sat in their canoes, viewing the famous summer resort of the St. Lawrence. The Thousand Islands lay before them, many dotted with cottages and tents, others, too small for comfortable living, uninhabited.

Somewhere out among those islands the boys were going to camp, and they could hardly wait until morning to set out in their quest of a suitable spot.

To those boys not familiar with the location of the Thousand Islands, it may be well to say that they spread out from the waters of Lake Ontario on the southwest to a narrow stretch of the St. Lawrence on the northeast, some thirty-eight miles distant, forming a chain, or archipelago, through which the clear, bright waters of the river go racing swiftly. They are composed of islands of all sizes, from a surface no larger than an ordinary dry-goods box, over which the water moves, to that of a substantial size, several miles in circ.u.mference, containing some villages, and, in one instance, an inland lake-the Lake of the Isles.

Hundreds of the islands contain no habitation, but stand, their rich, loamy surfaces covered with trees, in whose branches birds come to build. These islands remain undisturbed, save when pleasure seekers from some more populous center push their boats into the quiet reaches of their waters on a summer's day.

There are really many more than a thousand of the islands, the lowest estimate being fifteen hundred, the highest eighteen hundred. And flowing in between them, winding this way and that, the river is limpid, fast-moving and deep, the depth varying from thirty to sixty feet.

The delights of the region had a strong grip on the young canoeists when, after a night spent in Rockport, they set out in the early morning in search of a lonely isle, where they could rest in peace and comfort for a few weeks, enjoying boating, fishing or reading, as the case might be.

In and out among the many channels they went, paddling with slow, easy strokes, now going against a strong current, now with it, until, finally, they found innumerable little islands stretching on all sides, none of which were, apparently, inhabited.

It is a law commonly observed in the Thousand Islands that camping privileges upon any of the uninhabited islands are free, so the boys began to look about for a good-sized island which would meet their approval from every standpoint.

"There's a fine-looking island," said Bert, pointing to where, over the tops of two or three smaller islands, a wooded knoll came into view, looking cool and shady.

"Yes, and there's some sort of a house on it, too," said Tom.

"May be just what we want," said Chot. "Let's go over there, anyway, and perhaps the occupant of the house can direct us to a good camping ground."

"But let's get an uninhabited island," said Pod.

"Yes; let's be Crusoes or nothing," said Fleet. "Pod will make a good 'man Friday.'"

"Hey, you, don't start anything like that, or I'll ram your old craft and send you to the bottom," said Pod.

"Ram away," replied Fleet.

He well knew which craft would be the first to capsize if Pod kept his word.

"Well, I'll let you off this time," said Pod.

"For which I am deeply grateful," said Fleet, a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

They soon reached the island under discussion, and landing, pulled their canoes up on the sh.o.r.e and fastened them securely to some of the smaller trees.

Then, as they started up the slight incline toward the lodge which topped the rise, a man came out on the verandah and stood, regarding them curiously.

CHAPTER XVI-MR. LAWRENCE OF WINNSOCKET LODGE

"Welcome to the island!" cried a cheerful voice, as the boys approached the lodge, and, looking up they saw that the stranger had removed a cigar from his mouth and was smiling genially.

He was an attractive-looking man of perhaps thirty-five, slightly bald, his temples tinged with gray. He was fully six feet tall and of a magnificent physique.

"Thank you, sir," Chot responded. "We have no wish to intrude, but we are searching for a camping place."

"And the island looked good to you, eh?"

"Oh, we did not intend camping here."

"Well, there, what if you did. It's a pleasure I a.s.sure you to have you visit me. I so seldom see anyone who is sociable."

He came down to the foot of the steps, hand out-stretched to greet them.

"I am Jared Lawrence of Boston," he told them. "This is my summer cottage. I call it Winnsocket Lodge."

"And it's a beauty all right," said Fleet, after Chot had introduced each in turn-"just the sort of a place to have in the Thousand Islands."

The other boys echoed Fleet's sentiments.

"I suppose you wouldn't think of accepting a proposition from us for a month or so, Mr. Lawrence?" queried Chot.

"You mean that you want to rent the lodge?"