Doctor Emery spent most of his time on the upper deck, reading in the numerous books he had brought; writing on square sheets of paper, and, sometimes, sitting idly in his chair and watching the shore slip by. But he always had a ready smile for whoever happened by, and, on the whole, was quite the cheeriest and most contented of any. The upper deck was a mighty comfortable place in the middle of the day when, moored or anchored by the river bank, they ate dinner and indulged afterward in what they called a “siesta.” The table was set up there, and, while it was somewhat of a trouble to bring the things up the stairs, it made a fine dining-room. The striped awning fluttered in the breeze, the geraniums were masses of scarlet bloom and the gaily-hued rugs added their quota of color. There were wicker chairs for all, although Dick preferred to lie stretched out on the deck with a cushion under his head. Sometimes during siesta the Doctor fell frankly asleep and snored gently, and the others talked in whispers for fear of awaking him. But Harry was impatient of idleness, and as soon as the two hours were up she insisted on weighing anchor. Snip would scamper ashore whenever they touched the bank and he had the most wonderfully exciting times of his life. He explored every foot of the ground, pursued real and imaginary scents, and treed mythical bears. Those three days were jolly ones, even if nothing really happened. There was so much to talk about, so many things to relate, that the conversation never languished for a minute. Harry learned to steer after a fashion, learned to tell time by the ship’s clock in the wheel-house, and helped Dick prepare the meals. She made the beds, too, and went religiously around the rooms with a dustcloth every morning in a vain endeavor to find dust. But on the fourth day Harry’s mania for progress palled. It was a gray morning, foggy and damp. Oddly enough it was the Doctor who first voiced a desire for change. “I wonder,” he remarked, looking at the unbroken margin of forest which stretched along the shore, “if there is any fishing to be found about here?” “I think we could catch something from the tender, sir,” replied Roy. “I was thinking of trout,” murmured the Doctor. Chub went into the wheel-house and consulted his map. “There’s a good-sized stream about a mile up,” he announced. “Let’s go and try it.” “Oh, let’s!” cried Harry. “I never caught a trout.” “You should have seen the one I caught,” said Chub. “It was a regular whopper. It was as long--” Roy and Dick groaned. “I’ve got a picture of it somewhere. I’ll find it.” “Never mind it now,” said Roy gently. “Try to think of something else, Chub. You see, sir,” addressing the Doctor, “he’s a little bit--er--daffy on the subject of that fish. As a matter of fact, it weighed about ten ounces and--” “Ten ounces!” howled Chub. “It weighed two pounds! Why, it was the biggest trout you ever saw! I thought first it was a salmon.”