Pud’s library occupied a shelf beside the window. It came very near to being a five-foot library owing to the inclusion of all his school-books of earlier years. Pud had inherited respect for all things printed and could never be induced to throw away a book, no matter how ancient or worn. There were new books as well as old ones, however, and the new ones ran to sensational adventure. The newest of all, which Pud, having settled himself comfortably, took from the shelf, was ‘The Pirates of the Caribbean,’ the property, as emphatically set forth inside the cover, of The Millville Free Public Library. For a few moments he listened for the slam of the front gate, and then, as Mr. Tully’s promise seemed to have been forgotten, he heaved a sigh of relief and, sliding lower onto his spine, placed his right knee over his left and in a jiffy was far away on tropical seas, swinging a cutlass with the best of them! But, although Pud didn’t know it then, Mr. Tully did call, and with the result that when Pud’s father returned from a trip to a neighboring town at about five o’clock, there ensued a sober conference on the front porch in the course of which Pud’s mother said: ‘I think he reads too many improbable stories, Anson, and sees far too many sensational moving pictures. He ought to be outdoors more and not spend so much of his time in the stable loft. Now that school is over, it will be worse than ever. I do wish we could send him to a summer camp, but that would be too expensive, I suppose.’ ‘It would,’ agreed Mr. Pringle promptly and emphatically, ‘but it’s just possible that we can think of something else, Mary. Now ... let ... me ... see.’ CHAPTER II FRIENDS MAKE UP ‘Oh, Tim!’ Pud, his scuffed shoes wedged between the pickets, leaned across the fence and hailed his neighbor excitedly. But Tim, his back turned, was propelling the lawn-mower along the edge of the grass-plot in front of the house, and the strident chatter of the machine deafened him to the hail. Pud took a deeper breath and tried again. This time he almost threw himself from the fence. ‘_Tim! Tim Daley!_’ Tim heard, turned, looked, and stopped the mower. ‘Hello,’ he replied cautiously, and mopped his heated brow with the back of his hand. ‘Say, Tim, want to go with me and be a pirate?’ ‘Huh?’ Tim relinquished the handle of the mower and approached the fence. It was evident by now that friendly relations were re-established, and his good-looking countenance held a smile that mingled delight with sheepishness. But Pud had forgotten for the moment all about the recent estrangement, and as Tim drew near he went on gleefully: ‘Want to be a pirate and sail down the river in dad’s motor-boat and camp out at night and――’ ‘Your dad hasn’t got any motor-boat,’ responded Tim.