“_What?_” cried the others. Dick nodded sheepishly. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he answered. “I guess I’ll try, anyhow.” “Bully for you!” Chub cried, clapping him on the back. “We’ll make a man of you yet, Dickums!” At that moment Billy Noon returned, reporting success, and jumped aboard to be taken back to the island. Mr. Cole had offered him hospitality until his cat-boat was restored to him and had placed the tender at his services. Dick started the engine and the _Pup_ barked her way back to the island. The boys were rather thoughtful, although the prospect of meeting again the next summer had taken away the sting of present parting. Billy, too, was unusually silent, and the trip was a quiet one indeed for the _Pup_. The artist appeared on the after deck of the _Jolly Roger_ as they approached and waved a handful of brushes at them. “What luck?” he roared. “Found them both,” answered Dick. The _Pup_ sidled up to the house-boat and they put off Billy and the groceries. “Everything’s there,” said Dick. “And I’ll come around about four o’clock and get to work.” As they rounded School Point on their way to the anchorage they sighed regretfully as the camp came into view. The white tent in the green clearing had never looked so homelike and so attractive as then. At four Dick, dressed in his best camp attire, went over to the _Jolly Roger_ to enter upon his duties as chef and caterer. Chub and Roy got into the crimson canoe and went for a paddle, realizing that it might be the last one they would take together in those waters. “I won’t have much time to crate this canoe to-morrow,” said Chub. “I’d forgotten about that,” Roy replied. “It seems funny to think that we’re pulling out of here for keeps, doesn’t it? And Dick will have to get the _Pup_ stored somewhere, I guess, until he comes back in the fall.” “Johnson, the fellow who has his ice-boat, will look after it for him, I guess. He will have to take her down to-morrow. Hello, there goes Billy.” A half mile above them the artist’s little cedar tender was bobbing its way across the inner channel, Billy Noon alone in it. “He’s a mystery, that fellow,” observed Roy thoughtfully. “Yes, but I’ll bet we’ll know more about him by to-morrow,” said Chub. “Why to-morrow?” “Because to-day’s Thursday.” “Say, you know something, I’ll bet. Out with it, Chub.” “No.” Chub shook his head. “No, I don’t know anything--for sure; I just suspect.” “Well, what do you suspect?” Chub thought a moment. Then, “I don’t know,” he answered with a grin. “You’re an idiot,” said Roy good-naturedly. “Come on, let’s go back to the landing and get Harry. It must be nearly time.” Harry, however, was late, and it was well past six before she came scampering down the path. She had on a brand new dimity dress--white, it was, sprinkled with little yellow rosebuds--and her cheeks were very pink. “Merry Christmas!” called Chub. “Happy New Year!” added Roy as she stepped into the canoe.