“All right; but if I’m to make it in time for dinner we must go back at once. I do hope it will be a success. I never tried baking in a tin oven,” she added loftily. “That’s all right,” said Dick. “After you’ve tried it once you’ll use no other. Isn’t it lucky dinner is our midday meal!” So they had blueberry pie that day, a good big fat one it was, too. After a short siesta they walked over to the pasture which afforded a fairly good place for kicking and catching, and the boys found the foot-ball which Chub had brought along and had a good hour of fun with it. Snip, too, enjoyed it, chasing the pigskin like a veteran and trying to bite holes in it when he had run it down. Harry’s pie was such a success that there was a loud and insistent demand for more. So she tried one of blackberries and, while it wasn’t quite as good as the blueberry, it didn’t go begging. Two days of rain tried their patience, for the upper deck was quite uninhabitable, and staying indoors became dull work after the first few hours. The evenings weren’t so bad, for Harry took things in hand then. They had dancing to music supplied by the talking-machine, they played games and told stories, the Doctor proving a veritable mine of romance. The _Slow Poke_ made a few miles each day, but most of the time it remained huddled against a bank as much as possible out of the way of the storm. [Illustration: Before noon camp was made at the edge of the grove] The next day the storm passed over, but the weather remained gloomy and chill. The _Slow Poke_ put thirty miles behind her between breakfast and supper and life became more cheerful. Just before sunset the clouds broke and a vivid red glow in the northwest promised a fair day on the morrow. That evening the Doctor began to talk of trout again, and Chub brought his map down to the table in the forward cabin and they searched it for likely fishing places. The result was that in the morning they chugged four miles down stream, crossed over to the west shore, and found a mooring in a charming little sandy cove. The sky was blue again, the river like a great mirror, and the sun shone hot and comforting. The _Slow Poke_ lay nestled right up to the bank and a few yards away the stream which they had come to fish in flowed into the cove under an old rickety wooden bridge. Between the road and the water was a grove of trees and a little clearing in which the grass grew knee-deep. Some four hundred yards down-stream huddled a small settlement consisting of a store and a half-dozen white and drab houses under a group of giant elms. “What a lovely place for a camp,” mused Harry, as the boat was made fast. “Great!” Chub agreed. “Let’s pitch the tent, fellows, and live ashore for a day or two. Doctor Emery and Harry can stay aboard at night and guard the boat.”