“Come on, Ben,” invited Rod. “You’ve sure performed your share of the work, and you’ve a right to get in some fun. After a plunge, we’ll dress and hike out.” They took a dip and a rub-down in the soft purple light of the breathless, balmy dawn, after which little time was lost in dressing and getting out the fishing tackle. In the shadowy tent Sleuth and Sile slept on, the latter muttering and groaning occasionally, the former at last bound in peaceful slumber. “They’re sure exhausted complete,” said Grant, as he brought the fishing outfit from the tent. They paused near the canoe upon the sandy beach. “Which way shall we go?” questioned Rod. “I’ve got a feeling that I’d like to tut-try that brook again,” said Phil. “It’s handy, and we can feel pretty sure of catching something.” “I was thinking the same thing,” admitted Grant. “Forbidden fruit is always the most attractive. Besides, three of us would crowd the canoe so that there would be little comfort in fishing. What do you say, Stone?” “I’m ready for anything,” agreed Ben. “And if we keep to the near side of the brook, we know we’ll not be trespassing. Jim Simpson will have no grounds for raising a row.” “And if he doesn’t raise a row,” laughed Phil, “we’ll all be sus-sorely disappointed. Come on.” As they made their way along the shore they cast occasional glances toward Spirit Island, which seemed to crouch in the midst of the lake, dark, silent and mysterious, and therefore intensely fascinating to their youthful minds. In the broad light of day they might show a disposition to laugh at superstitious fancies, but, scarcely less than complete darkness, the shadowy, silent approach of dawn is conducive to sensations of awe and a pronounced inclination to credit the seemingly supernatural. And it is indeed a wholly unimaginative person who has never experienced a thrill over the apparently uncanny and weird. At the mouth of the brook they were granted nothing but disappointment; the test of various flies failed to lure a single fish to rise to their hooks. “It seems,” said Springer, “that we made a fearful mistake in bringing Piper with us, or, at least, in permitting him to try his hand at angling. Having frightened all the fish out of the water to hide in the woods, isn’t it pup-possible that, in their extreme terror, they may have lingered too long in their places of concealment and perished miserably?” “I heard of a man once,” said Grant, “who taught a trout to live out of the water.” “Easy! easy!” warned Phil.