“So am I!” declared Aunt Kate, vigorously. “A light will keep whatever animal it is away, and I’m sure it was that. Of course we’ll stay!” There was nothing for Grace and Amy to do but give in—which they did, rather timidly, be it confessed. “And now let’s go for a ride,” proposed Betty, after lunch. “There are some things I want to get at Mr. Lagg’s store.” “Will you tell him about the—ghost?” asked Grace. “Certainly not. It may be,” said Betty, “that some one is playing a joke on us. In that case we’ll not give him the satisfaction of knowing that we saw anything. We will keep silent, girls.” And they did. “Matches, soap and oil and butter, Business gives me such a flutter.” Mr. Lagg recited this as Betty gave her order. “Have you seen the ghost?” he asked. “Oh!” cried Grace, “you have in some fresh chocolates! I must have some.” “You’ll find my chocolates sweet and good, To eat on lake or in the wood!” Mr. Lagg’s attention being diverted to a net subject, he did not press his question. Thus the girls escaped committing themselves. “I think we are going to have a storm,” remarked Betty, when they were under way again, cruising down the lake toward Triangle Island, where they expected to call on some friends. “And as Rainbow gets rough very quickly, I think we shall turn back.” “Yes, do,” urged Amy. “I detest getting wet.” “The cabin is dry,” urged Grace. “We had better go back,” urged Aunt Kate, and the prow of the _Gem_ was swung around. Other boats, too small or not staunch enough to weather the blow that was evidently preparing, had turned about for a run to shore. There passed Betty’s craft the two boys whose canoe had been taken. “Any luck?” asked Betty, interestedly. “No, we haven’t found a trace of it yet,” the older one replied. In the West dark masses of vapor were piling up, and now and then the clouds were split by a jagged chain of lightning, while the ever-in-creasing rumble of thunder told of the onrush of the storm. “We’re going to get caught!” declared Mollie. “I guess I’ll close the ports, Betty.” “Do; and bring out my raincoat, please.” Attired in this protective garment over her sailor suit, the Little Captain stood at the wheel. With a blast that flecked the crests of the waves into foam, with a rattle and roar, and a vicious swish of rain, the storm broke over the _Gem_ while she was yet a mile from the camp on Elm Island. The boat heeled over, for her cabin was high and offered a broad surface to the wind. “We’ll capsize!” screamed Amy.