"You've got it bad, Bennie," he smiled. "Were you getting warm just when you had to stop? You'll have to practise patience, I'm afraid. To-morrow we're going up the river for crabs, and on Friday afternoon there'll be an athletic meet. Don't worry, though. The mine isn't going to run away." "You chump!" whispered Phelps in the small boy's ear as they started off downhill in a body. "Do you want to give the whole show away?" "I didn't mean anything, Ranny--honest. I didn't think--" "I should say you didn't!" Ranny's tone was severe, but his face relaxed a bit at the other's comical expression of dismay. "Don't let another peep like that out of you or we'll have some of the crowd trailing us next time we come here. I'll be surprised if Wes or somebody hasn't caught on already." But apparently no one had. Doubtless they laid Bennie's outburst to the irresponsibility of extreme youth and ignored it. On the way back to camp there was a good deal of general discussion and theorizing about the location of the mine, but the members of Tent Three managed their answers well enough, apparently, to prevent suspicion. After supper, too, the interest shifted to the morrow's doings, and by the time the call for council-fire sounded through the dusk Lost Mine had been momentarily forgotten. Out on the extreme tip of Long Point a great heap of branches and driftwood had been assembled, and around this the scouts gathered in a wide circle. Some sat cross-legged, draped in blankets, for the air was brisk and cool. Others sprawled at length upon the soft sand, shoulder pressing shoulder, arms flung carelessly about one another's neck. Overhead the sky was brilliant with stars. From all about came the soft lapping of water, mingled with the lulling, rhythmic beat of surf upon the distant shore. It was a moment of complete relaxation after a long and strenuous day, and from many lips there breathed sighs of utter contentment. And then the flames, creeping from a little pile of timber at the bottom of the heap, licked up through the dead branches to flare out at the top--a great yellow beacon that chased away the shadows and brought into clear relief the circle of eager, boyish faces. From where the officers sat came presently the soft chords of Captain Chalmers's guitar mingled with the sweeter, higher tinkle of Mr. Reed's mandolin, feeling their way from simple harmonies into the stirring melody of an old, familiar song. Of course the fellows caught it up, singing lustily to the last note, and their clear young voices, wafting out across the water, reached the ears of a grizzled fisherman coming in with the tide and carried him in a twinkling back fifty years or more into the long-forgotten past. CHAPTER XXIII A SURPRISE FOR VEDDER