Sam found a letter awaiting him from Tom Pollock. As it was short and concise we may as well quote it in full. “Dear Sam,” wrote Tom, “when are you coming home? The reason I want to know is that Lynton is to play us here on the sixteenth. She beat us the first game and we beat her last Saturday, 5 to 1, and we’re going to play off the tie. We want you to catch for us. I looked up that letter from Mr. Langham and it said the camp ran to September 13th. If that’s so you’ll be back here by Thursday, I guess. Let me know if you will and if you’ll play Saturday. All well here and I’m very busy. Sid is kicking his heels against the counter as I write this and wants to be remembered. Yours as ever, “TOM.” Sam answered the epistle the next morning and saw it off by Jerry the mailman. (The boys took delight in referring to Jerry according to the duty he was at the moment engaged in, as “Jerry the scullion,” “Jerry the iceman,” “Jerry the woodman,” and so on. On one occasion, Dick Barry discovered the versatile Jerry painfully inditing a letter and promptly dubbed him “Jerry the scribe.”) Sam told Tom that he expected to be back in Amesville the sixth and would be glad to catch for the Blues the following Saturday, if nothing prevented. A few days later came Visitors’ Day, and the camp took on a gala appearance. Strings of flags blossomed along the fronts of the buildings, pine and hemlock branches were festooned about the dining-hall, floors were scrubbed until they shone, and no one, even with a microscope, could have discovered a bit of paper or any sort of litter from the landing back to the pulpit tree. The visitors were not many in number, for parents and friends living at a distance found it impossible to reach Indian Lake before noon, but some twenty-odd appeared, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the programme supplied for their entertainment. There was an aquatic carnival in the morning, with swimming and diving competitions and canoe races, and another thrilling tilting contest, to say nothing of a swimming exhibition by Junior Councillor Craig. And at one o’clock there was a special dinner for the guests, followed by one not quite so “special” for the boys. There was no siesta that day, which alone made it blessed in the eyes of the fellows! In the afternoon there were athletic events and a final ball game between the Indians, “Camp Champions,” as the banner which they displayed proudly announced, and the Mascots. True to precedent the Indians won in six innings, thus finishing their season in a final burst of glory. The score was 16 to 4! But then, George Porter, with his mother and sister to watch him admiringly, pitched a remarkable game.