“I didn’t intend to,” he said, “I was just throwing a scare into you. It’s really devilish. A sudden wave can suck you down to interminable depths. You’re not afraid, really?” “Oh, no,” I assured him, “but it’s pesky frightensome to look at, especially——” Again I was on the verge of telling him of the scene on the lake the night before, and again I stopped, held back by some force outside myself. “Especially why?” he asked, curiously, but I evaded the issue by saying, “Especially when one is on a holiday.” He laughed and we turned away from Pleasure Dome. “Now I’ll show you the island,” he said, “and then we’ll tackle the tackle.” We went rapidly back past Pleasure Dome, on down the lake, past Moore’s own place, and then on a bit farther to the Island. “They call it ‘Whistling Reeds’, and it’s a good name,” he said. “When the wind’s a certain way, and it’s quiet otherwise, you can hear the reeds whistle like birds.” “You do have most interesting places,” I said. “And who lives here? And where’s the house?” “Alma Remsen lives here, the niece of Sampson Tracy I told you about last night. You can’t see the house, the trees are so thick.” “I should say they were!” and I stared at the dense black mass. “Why doesn’t she cut a vista, at least?” “She doesn’t want it, I believe. Thinks it’s more picturesque like this.” “I’d be scared to death to live there!” “No reason to be. Nothing untoward ever happens up here. All peaceable citizens.” “But fancy living in such a place. How do they get provisions and all that?” “Oh, that’s easy. Lots of the dealers deliver their stuff in canoes or motor boats. See, there’s the boathouse. Some day we’ll call here. Alma likes my wife, she’ll be glad to see us.” “I suppose she’s a canoeist.” “Everybody’s that, around here. I mean the people who live all the year round. A good many people live on islands. They like it. This island, you see, is a big one. About two or three acres, say. That gives Miss Remsen room for tennis courts and gardens and pretty much anything she wants, and the house is very pleasant. Nothing like Pleasure Dome, but a bigger house than the one we’re in.” We turned then, and started off toward the spot where Kee elected to do his fishing. “Hello,” he said, as we moved on, “there’s Alma now. That’s Miss Remsen.” We were now about midway between the Moore bungalow and the Island of Whistling Reeds. I looked, to see a girl come down to the floating dock of the boathouse, spring into a canoe and paddle away. I said nothing aloud, but to myself I said it was the girl I had seen in a canoe the night before. There was no mistaking that slim, lithe figure, that graceful capable way of managing the boat, and she even wore what seemed to me to be the same clothes, a white skirt and white sweater. She had on a small white felt hat, and I noticed that she did not limp at all. As I had surmised, the limp was occasioned by some slight and temporary strain or bruise.