Miles and miles away, up the lake, sped the gay-hearted cruisers, right past the spot where Zeb Fuller and his friends were steadily pulling in their victims, until they reached a land-locked sort of bay which Puff had indicated as a “sure thing for good fishin’!” Here, indeed, the sail came down and the anchor was thrown over, and Effie Dryer altogether forgot her stepmother in the unwonted excitement of watching for nibbles. The nibbles came, too, plenty of them, and Val Manning earned a new title to his chum’s devotion by the forbearance with which he allowed Bar not only to bait Sibyl Brayton’s hook, but to take off and consign to the “fish-car” for her every finny fellow who was reckless enough to bite hard and stay on in spite of her unskilful management of her line. Effie Dryer had been on the lake many a time before, and had a very good opinion of her own skill, but she was somehow contented to allow George Brayton to follow the example Bar Vernon set him. Fishing is sure to become tiresome in due time, however, even if the biting is liberal, and before noon all hands were ready to see the sail hoisted again. Then there was a “voyage of discovery” up and down the rugged line of the lake shore, to find a suitable place for their picnic. Plenty of them there were, but it would not do to throw away the fun of choosing, and at last they pitched upon a spot, at the head of a deep cove, shadowed by great rocks and tall overhanging trees. The _Sibyl_ was hauled ashore; the girls were helped out; a blazing fire was kindled; coffee was made; the contents of Mrs. Wood’s ample basket were brought to light; and then it was shortly discovered that the best thing in the world to secure a good appetite was to take a few hours of sailing and fishing on Skanigo. It was at the end of the lunch that Val Manning once more covered his unselfish head with glory, for he volunteered to look out for the boat and the “things” while George Brayton and Bar Vernon took the young ladies for a stroll among the rocks and trees, and up and down the shore. Splendid fun that was, but Bar Vernon was yet a good deal of a “boy,” for one of the first things he said to his companion was: “You mustn’t think I didn’t know how to spell your name. That was all Puff Evans’s fault.” “Then you really did name your boat after me?” asked Sibyl. “Of course I did,” said Bar. “You are the only Sibyl I ever knew.” “It was very kind of you,” she answered, gently; “and I think she is a beautiful little boat.” There was not a prouder fellow on or about Skanigo Lake at that moment, than Mr. Barnaby Vernon. That sort of thing could not last forever, though it might be ever so pleasant, and Val Manning’s self-imposed watch at the shore was shortly terminated.