The brown eyes were looking at him steadily, fearlessly. "I didn't squeal, Uncle Jack, I jes tole Pop"--A grubby hand began rumpling the tousled head. "I tole Pop you won't let me peddle--'n when you learn me to swim'n dive will you let me peddle all alone by myself?" When Norah rowed out to the forty-two foot launch, two hours later, she witnessed a curious spectacle. As she climbed over the rail she saw her brother standing at the opposite rail holding a long pole, at the end of which there hung out into the water, out of her sight, a strong wash line. Her brother seemed to be getting vast amusement out of what he was doing. Professor Brierly and Jimmy Hale were standing near by, interested spectators. Norah stepped around the wheel house, asking: "What are you doing, Jack?" She was treated to Jack's good humored grin as he turned to face her. "I'm fishin', Norah, fishin'. See--" He heaved up the thick pole. There was a squealing from the hidden end of the rope. Then, to Norah's shocked eyes, there appeared the squirming, wriggling form of her young son trussed up in a harness that held him about his shoulders and thighs and left his arm and legs free. Norah rushed forward. "Tommy! Jack!" Tommy yelled excitedly. "Oo, mummie, Uncle Jack's learnin' me to swim. Watch. Lemme down, Uncle Jack 'n show Mummie." "John Matthews," Norah called in her sternest tones, "let Tommy down, this minute. Suppose the rope broke, suppose--" "Just watch, Norah. He's gettin' to be a reg'lar Weismuller. Ready Tommy." With a look compounded of maternal love and pride, Norah watched the little form struggle through the water at the end of its odd fishing line. This was followed by a diving lesson. There was much splashing, squealing and fun. Every time the little form disappeared beneath the water a big form followed it. When the little head appeared above the surface sputtering, the other was near by to be confidently clasped. Chapter III It was not the casual interest of the feature story that now inspired Jimmy Hale, on his way the following morning with his friends to the camp of Isaac Higginbotham. Jimmy's vivid imagination was keyed to its highest pitch. Decidedly this trip to Canada seemed very much worth while, even to a star reporter. What McCall had intimated the day before whetted his appetite. He thrilled at the thought that he was on the scene where a big story might be in the very making. He exulted further at the thought that Professor Herman Brierly was to be with him. It lacked a few minutes before nine o'clock on the morning of July fourth, when the launch operated by Matthews docked at the small wharf of the Higginbotham camp. Nestled on a small bay of land on the eastern shore of the lake, with the thick foliage forming a dark, somber background, the rambling building comprising the camp formed an ideal place and setting for this type of retreat.