Began then a journey of detour that tried Joe’s patience to the limit. The trees, young maples and beech, with here and there a spectral birch, grew close, and between them had crowded saplings and bushes, and progress and silence were incompatible from the first. Fortunately, there was so much noise within the cabin that a little of it outside went unheeded by the revelers, and after ten painful minutes the conspirators reached the side of the cabin away from the road. Again depositing their luggage, they seated themselves behind a screening bush and waited. It was already dusk, there in the woods; a stone’s throw away, the lake lay placid and shadowed, tiny wavelets lapped on the pebbles, their sound heard, however, only in the interims between the noises that issued through the open window of the cabin. Presently Philip gently removed the wrappings of the bundle and unfolded its contents. It lay, a pallid blur, in the darkness. Then he settled once more to the irksome task of waiting. Through the square of window the light of the hanging lantern within threw a path of fast-deepening radiance toward them. At times unrecognizable forms shadowed the casement. From the fact that those in the cabin still moved about and sang, and shouted to each other above the singing, the watchers were assured that the supper was still in course of preparation. From Joe came a deep sigh. “Isn’t it dark enough yet?” he whispered. Philip looked about through the forest. “Pretty near,” he answered. “We’ll wait five minutes longer.” A hand went out and he drew the violin case closer. In the cabin, Harper Merrill lifted the larger of the two thick steaks on a fork and peered at it doubtfully in the dim light. “I guess this one’s done,” he announced. “Try the potatoes, Pete.” “They’re all right. Falling to pieces, some of ’em. Come on and――” “Set that coffee back!” yelled Harper. “Gosh, you fellows would stand around and not move a hand! Find a knife, Dill, and I’ll cut this up.” “I don’t see but three plates,” announced Bull Jones disgustedly. “How we going to manage?” “Guess those guys didn’t plan to entertain so soon,” chuckled Gus Baldwin, who, with Charley Nagel, completed the company. “I’ll eat mine in my fingers.” “Got the bread out?” asked Harper impatiently. “Why don’t you open some of that ginger ale, Bull?” “Haven’t any opener, that’s why! You forgot to ask for one.” “I didn’t forget any more than you did,” Harper replied truculently, having just singed his fingers on the frying-pan. “I had enough to do, didn’t I? I bought the steak and the onions――” “Gosh!” exclaimed Dill. “What was that? Listen, fellows! Shut up a minute, Harp!” Comparative quiet fell and all stood motionless. Harper with a steak held above the pan. There was no sound save the _lap-lapping_ of the wavelets. “I don’t hear anything,” growled Bull. “What did you think――”