“Bark!” ridiculed Harry. “We had them that way last night,” said Dick. “To-day they’re to be peeled; and you’re going to peel them. So come along.” “I wonder,” muttered Chub as he arose and followed the others along the beach, “why it is I always have to do most of the work. I suppose I’m too good-natured and obliging. Woe is me!” Ten minutes later he was sitting cross-legged on the rock in the cove with a pan of potatoes beside him, peeling and whistling contentedly. “How many have you got?” asked Dick, coming down for the butter. “Plenty,” answered Chub cheerfully. “Let’s see, there’s one for you and one for Harry and a little one for Roy and a tiny one for Snip and four for me.” “Two or three more will be enough,” said Dick. “But, for goodness sake, Chub, which are the potatoes and which are the peelings?” “You run away,” answered Chub aggrievedly. “Those peelings are mere wafers. I’m celebrated for peeling potatoes.” “Humph!” Dick grunted as he turned away. “Humph yourself!” answered Chub, throwing a peeling at him. “Chub,” he continued, talking to himself, “this is a very ungrateful world. But you must make the best of it. Do your duty, Chub, and all will be well. Whereupon our hero, brushing aside the unmanly tears, applied himself with renewed vigor to his degrading task.” And Chub, working the potato-knife slowly, took up his whistling again. CHAPTER VII “W. N.” PAYS A VISIT “I’m not grumbling,” denied Chub. “I’m only--only stating my position.” They had been on Fox Island just one week; had bathed, canoed up and down the river, explored the country on each side of them to some extent, had eaten three generous meals every day, and had slept nine hours every night; and now Chub had given the first expression of dissatisfaction. They had finished dinner and were still sitting about the scanty remains of the feast. Harry was not present, to-day being one of the two days in the week when piano practice kept her an unwilling prisoner at the Cottage. Yesterday it had rained from morning until night, keeping them close to camp, and to-day, although the rain had ceased after breakfast, the clouds hung low, and there was an uncomfortable rawness in the east wind. The square of canvas over the stove flapped dismally, and the camp fire smoldered smokily, as though it were depressed by the cheerlessness of the leaden sky and the gray river. “What do you expect in camp?” asked Roy, almost irritably, tilting back on the soap-box which had served him for a dining chair. “A parade in the morning, circus in the afternoon, and theater in the evening?” “Maybe he’d rather have a garden-party this afternoon and a concert to-night,” suggested Dick, sarcastically. “Now, look here,” answered Chub, warmly, “you fellows needn’t jump on me. I only said that life was growing dull, and it is, and you know it is--only you’re afraid to say so.” “Who’s jumping on you?” asked Dick.