“Yes, quite sure,” laughed Harry. “I am relieved,” said the man soberly. He took his hands from his pockets and came toward them with long, easy steps which showed that, in spite of his size, he was far more graceful than many a smaller man. “So you’d like to see inside the bear’s den, would you?” he asked. “Well, come along then, ladies and gentlemen; this way to the grand salon.” They followed him on to the boat, Harry, Dick, Roy, and Chub, Chub still looking a trifle abashed and keeping to the rear. Their guide led them along the side of the house to the space at the rear, threw open a door and bowed them in. They found themselves in a little room about ten feet square. The sunlight streamed through the two windows on the island side and cast a golden glow over the apartment. It was furnished with a table, which still held the remains of a meal, two chairs, a large easel holding a clean canvas, a high stand bearing a huge paint-box, brushes, knives, and tubes, and a green bench. There was a cupboard built against the wall in one corner, a pile of canvases under the table and a few pictures between the windows. “This is the workroom,” explained the host. “Not lavishly furnished, you see.” No one answered. What they were all wondering was, how on earth the man managed to move around in that tiny room without upsetting the easel or the table! Perhaps he surmised their thoughts, for: “Rather a small den for a big bear, isn’t it?” he laughed, showing a set of big white teeth through his beard. “It’s very nice,” murmured Harry. “Do you make pictures?” “Yes, I’m a painter,” he answered, as he opened another door. “Told you he was!” whispered Chub to Roy, and received a scathing glance in reply. Out of the living-room was a tiny kitchen with an oil-stove, cupboards for dishes and food, a sink, and, in short, all the requirements for housekeeping. Harry went into raptures over the place, and the boys agreed that it was “just about all right.” On the other side of the kitchen, or the “galley,” as their host termed it, was a small engine-room with a twenty horse-power gasolene engine. That interested Dick, and he had to know all about it before he would consent to go on. The man explained smilingly, obligingly. “It’s a fairish engine, I guess,” he said, “but I’m free to confess that I don’t understand it and never shall. Engines and machinery are beyond me. I start it going and if it wants to it keeps on. If it doesn’t want to it stops. And I stay there until it gets ready to go again. It’s stopped now, as it happens. That’s why I’m here.”