"There are plenty hereabouts, just now," Dick replied. "But we may take them all out of the water before we move from here." "Of course," nodded Laura's father. "That's what trout are for. They won't do anyone any good as long as they remain in the water." "Let's hurry back, please," urged Dick. "I am anxious to see your luncheon under way." "Yes," teased Belle, "the sooner you have satisfied our appetites the sooner you may expect to see us gone and be able to enjoy yourselves and your comfortable solitude once more." "Now, just for saying that, Belle," uttered Dick reproachfully, "I'm going to consider the revenge of burning two of your trout in the pan." "Mercy!" cried Belle Meade. "Are you going to cook the trout?" "After you've eaten a trout cooked and served up by Dick Prescott," Dave declared, "you won't want them cooked by anyone else. Dick is the one trout chef in this part of the country." "Where did he learn?" teased Belle with a pretense of suspicion. "Mr. Morton---Coach Morton, of our high school eleven---taught Dick how to do it," Dave explained. "Right here, young ladies---attention!" called Dr. Bentley, holding up a warning finger. "If brook trout are as fine eating as they used to be when I was a boy, then you simply won't be able to keep it a secret that you've eaten some recently. Yet on one point I must insist. None of you must be dishonorable enough to name any spot within fifty miles of here as the scene of your trout luncheon. If you let the secret out all the trout fishermen in four counties will be swarming here to destroy all the fun your young men friends are having. So, please remember! Utter, dark, uncompromising secrecy!" "Is it as bad as that?" asked Belle. "Every real trout fisherman knows enough to keep his own secrets as to the streams that contain trout," Dave nodded. By this time they came within sight of the camp. Nor was it long before Tom, Dan and Harry caught sight of the visitors and ran forward to meet them. "Our friends have come just in time to have a trout feast," Dick announced. "I shall be jealous if they eat the trout," Tom retorted. "Or envious?" laughed Belle. "No; jealous," Tom assured her. "Dan and I have been fishing, too. Come and see what we caught." Tom led the way to where he had cleaned more than a dozen black bass, while in buckets of water lay nearly thirty more fine, sleek-looking fish. "Didn't you catch anything but bass?" Dave asked. "A few other fish," Tom admitted, "but we threw the inferior fish back into the water. Now, girls, which are you going to have---trout or bass?" "Both---if we may," ventured Laura, with a smile. And both were served at the meal. Motherly Mrs. Bentley laid aside her motoring dust coat and marshaled the girls for the various tasks to which she assigned them. What a hubbub there was in preparing the feast!