Gee whiz, there were going to be big doings next day—but that was the end of it. And I guess the trustees were glad of it. That very same night away went Harry Donnelle to Hudson Bay—he got a telegram, that’s all I know. He forgot all about the buried treasure. Mr. Temple said that was just like him. All he wanted was the fun of the thing. I bet the trustees were glad when he went away. He sent me a post card from a trading station in Hudson Bay. It had a picture of trappers on it and everything and he didn’t say anything about this fine diagram. When he came back he brought my father a bull moose’s head. I never saw that diagram, and I should worry about it, that’s what I said. Because anyway the money didn’t belong to me. I always heard it was in a big portfolio with a lot of other maps and things in Administration Shack. I guess they kept it as a kind of a curiosity. Anyway nobody ever said anything about it. The buried treasure was dead and buried and we should worry about it because, believe me, there’s plenty to do at Temple Camp these days without going fishing with grappling irons. I’d rather be jollying Pee-wee than doing that. CHAPTER XIX WE MEET A STRANGER I just thought I’d tell you about it so you’ll know. But I wasn’t strolling around with Brent as long as it took to tell it. In a couple of minutes we were back. He said, “Whatever you do don’t start that stuff with Hervey around. First thing you know he’ll be getting himself in trouble. He’s just about due for a new mix-up with the management.” I said, “You’re a nice one to be talking that way; you were with Harry Donnelle all the time he was up here.” He said, “Yes, but now I have to mind the baby.” “All right,” I told him; “what you say goes.” From the looks of things it seemed as if none of the others had talked about it, not even Pee-wee. He’s a wise little dumb-bell, I’ll say that for him. So it was all right—for the time being. After a little while we said good-bye to the girls and started off again on our left-handed hike. They went down to the shore with us and waited while we fixed the boat up and put another plug in the bottom. It was a wooden one. We don’t mind poverty, but rags we can’t stand—not in the flooring of boats. Warde said, “We want to know where the lake is, inside the boat or outside. We want it to be one place or the other.” Stella Wingate said, “If you were sea scouts you’d know that some kind of a rag is necessary on _every_ boat in case you want to fly a signal of distress.”