“We know him,” replied Harvey. “He’s an old friend of ours, eh, Henry?” “Yes, indeed,” said Henry Burns; “he was the _Viking’s_ first invited—no, uninvited—guest.” Mr. Carleton was as good as his word, and more. The canoe, manned by Tom and Bob, went down alongshore that afternoon loaded with a conglomerate mixture of oranges, bananas, bottled soda, pies, other sweet stuff, and extra dishes from the campers’ stores. And Mr. Carleton, arriving on the scene in the course of the afternoon, brought a lot more. He paid for everything. “My!” exclaimed young Joe, eying the stuff as the Warren boys put in an appearance about five o’clock. “I hope he stays all summer, don’t you, Arthur?” “Hello, I’m glad to meet you once more,” cried Mr. Carleton, heartily, advancing to greet Henry Burns and Harvey as their dory landed at the shore. “I thought I might get down this way. How’s that fine boat of yours?” “Fine as ever,” answered Harvey. “Good! I’ll go out for a sail with you to-morrow,” cried Mr. Carleton, clapping a hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “Say the word, and I’ll have the soda and ginger ale and a new pail for some lemonade. We’ve got to make the time pass somehow, eh?” “Suits me all right,” assented Harvey. “What do you say, Henry?” “Bully!” said Henry Burns. The fire of driftwood, which was plentiful everywhere along the shores of Grand Island, roared up cheerily against the evening sky. When it had burned for an hour or more, Jack Harvey deftly raked an enormous bed of the coals out from it, on which to set fry-pans and broilers and coffee-pot, still keeping the great fire going at a little distance, for the sake of its cheer. They feasted, then, by the light of blazing timbers and junks of logs, borne down from the river, as only hungry campers can. Young Joe ceased laughing uproariously at Mr. Carleton’s stories only when his sixth banana and fourth piece of pie precluded loud utterance. And when it was over, and they went their several ways by woods and alongshore, they voted Mr. Carleton a generous provider. He was ready again, was Mr. Carleton, the following afternoon, with the promised luxuries, alongside the _Viking_; and he was as much a boy as any of them when he and the owners of the yacht and Tom and Bob set out on a sail up the bay. The wind was fresh and fair from the southward, the bay furrowed everywhere with billows breaking white, with just enough sea running to make it good sport. The _Viking_, with sheets well off, made a fine run to Springton, and bowled into that harbour with the spray flying.