“Oh, they tell such things,” answered the farmer’s son; “but I guess it’s all bosh. Granger has talked to me about it some. He seems to have an idee in his noddle that there’s really ghosts on that island. One day I saw some of the stuff he’d writ about it. Say, you know he don’t do his writin’ with a pen; no, sir, he has one of them new-fangled thingamajigs that prints the words jest as fast as he can pound ’em off with his fingers. Did you fellers ever know that folks got paid for makin’ up lies and writin’ ’em off for the papers? Don’t seem right, when other people have to work to get their money.” There was something like resentment in his manner. “Every man to his trade,” laughed Grant. “The old shower is practically over, fellows. I hope the sun comes out good and warm, so we can dry our clothes comfortably.” The thunder was still grumbling in the east, like the muttering of a fractious giant gradually falling asleep, and a few raindrops mingled with the dripping from the trees that continued to patter upon the tent. Beyond the mountains the sky was brightening, and soon a ray of sunshine burst through the dispersing clouds. In a few minutes, the rain having ceased entirely, the boys opened the front of the tent and came forth to find the world looking bright and beautiful after its invigorating bath. Once more the lake was smiling in the sunlight, and the woods seemed to have taken on a fresher green, while the air, that had been heavy and humid before the storm, was clear and light and warm, without being depressing. Their wet, clinging clothing was uncomfortable, but, fortunately, all of the campers had brought extra underclothes, and it would not be so difficult upon this sunny afternoon to dry their outer garments. Simpson’s boat lay unharmed upon the sandy beach, and the paddle was found not far away, where it had been tossed by the waves. They helped him unstep the mast, for the sail would be of little use to him in making his way along that shore; and, besides, as he somewhat sheepishly confessed, he was practically cured of a desire to seek further experience in the art of sailing such a craft. “I’ve got enough,” he admitted. “This kind of a rig ain’t no good against the wind, and it’s rather dangerous sailing her with the wind, when there is any wind to speak of.” “Look here,” proposed Crane, “why can’t yeou bring us garden truck, same as you do Granger? We’ve made arrangements for that Dutchman, Duckelstein, to send us milk, butter and aigs, but there ain’t no need to give him a monopoly of all aour business. Besides, I’ve got a score to settle with his fat-headed boy, and mebbe after that’s over we won’t even get the stuff we’ve contracted for.” As he spoke he involuntarily touched his eye, which was still swollen, although the bandage had been removed.