On the following morning Mr. Basswood announced that he had to return to Crumville for a few days on business. He said that as soon as he arrived home he would get into telephone communication with Mr. Aaron Poole and acquaint him with the fact that some sort of a wild man had visited the vicinity of Bear Camp. "Of course we may be mistaken as to the identity of that individual," said Ben's father. "He may not be Wilbur Poole at all." "You want to be sure, Dad, and let Nat's father know that," said Ben, "because if Mr. Poole spent money up here looking for his brother, and then found out that the wild man was somebody else, he would never forgive either himself or you for the outlay." And at this frank statement those who knew how miserly the money-lender of Crumville was laughed outright. Mr. Basswood departed for Carpen Falls in the middle of the forenoon. As it promised to be a warm, clear day, one of the young folks suggested that they go in bathing at a little sandy beach a short distance below the bungalows. This suggestion was eagerly seconded, and as a consequence, a little later on, the young folks donned their bathing outfits and soon were having great sport in the water, with the older folks sitting on a fallen tree not far away watching them. "Oh, but it's cold!" declared Jessie, after her first plunge. "You'll get used to it after a bit," returned Dave. "Just strike out lively, and that will help to keep your blood in circulation." "Come on for a race!" shouted Luke, who was splashing around in great shape. "A race it is!" called back Phil. "Where shall we race to?" questioned Roger. "If you are going to race, I'll be the referee and timekeeper," announced Dunston Porter. It was decided that the boys should swim from the beach to a rock standing out of the water on the far edge of the cove. "First fellow to stand up on the rock wins the prize," announced Phil, and then he added quickly: "Girls, what's the prize?" "A fresh flapjack to the boy who bakes it," announced Belle, gaily. "Say, speaking of flapjacks puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow, who was wading around in water up to his ankles. "Once there were two old miners who were in a camp in the mountains. They got to disputing as to who could make the best flapjacks. Says one of them----" Shadow did not finish the story he had started to tell. Unbeknown to him, Roger had come up behind, and was now on his hands and knees in the water. Luke gave the would-be story-teller a quick shove; and over went Shadow backwards, to land in the shallow water with a resounding splash. "Flapjack number one!" cried Luke, gaily. "Say, Shadow, what are you making so much noise about?" "I'll noise you!" roared the former story-teller of Oak Hall, as he scrambled to his feet.