There came a rainy spell in the middle of the month, that made baseball out of the question for several days and the boys began to show signs of fidgeting. There wasn’t much they could do to work off their surplus animation when it rained. Not that the rain kept many of them indoors, for it didn’t; but knocking about in wet boats and canoes soon palled, tennis was impracticable, and there seemed to remain no outdoor amusement. By the fourth day the fellows had begun to get into mischief in sheer boredom and Mr. Langham realised that something must be done; that some outlet must be provided for the stored-up energy. The councillors talked it over in the office that morning. The rain still pelted down and the buildings were damp and cheerless in spite of the fires that flared all day in the big chimney-places. Sam, who had put on his raincoat and had his pockets bulging with bait-box and fishing tackle, hoped the conference would soon be over, for he and Tom Crossbush were going down the lake after bass. As it turned out, however, there was to be no fishing for them to-day. “I suppose,” said Mr. Langham, “we couldn’t get up any sort of an athletic meet, Brown?” “No, sir; everything’s flooded at the field. The pits are mud-holes.” “Well, we ought to get them busy at something, fellows. They’ll be getting into trouble if we don’t. I thought I detected a strong odour of cigarettes under the window yesterday.” Mr. Haskins nodded. “Three or four of the older boys were in the trunk cellar. I--er--I went down there, but failed to apprehend them.” The Chief tried not to smile. They all knew that Mr. Haskins had undoubtedly warned the boys of his approach and carefully waited until they had hidden all incriminating evidence before he had confronted them. Mr. Langham coughed and looked out the dripping window. “We mustn’t have smoking, Haskins,” he said gravely. “No, sir. If you’d like the names----” “No, no,” responded the Chief hurriedly. “If there’s no evidence---- What we’ve got to do is to get them busy so they won’t get into any deviltry. Anyone got a suggestion?” Apparently no one had. At least none spoke for a moment. Then Mr. Gifford said doubtfully: “We might let them go over to the village for the afternoon, sir.” The village lay across and down the lake some two miles, a tiny hamlet boasting of three or four stores, a blacksmith shop, and a station, from which an occasional train rambled away to the north on an unimportant branch line. Mr. Haskins smiled. “There isn’t much for them to do over there,” he said. “They might buy root-beer and candy and make themselves sick, but that’s about all.” “What we want is something they can go at hard,” said Mr. Langham, frowning over the problem. “Something that’ll leave them healthily tired out.” Another silence followed and then Sam asked: “Would it do them any harm to sleep out of doors, sir?”