“And that side is the most direct road to the old mill, by way of the river,” said Mr. Henderson, “but,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, “I don’t ’spose you boys will go there.” “Oh, won’t we though!” exclaimed Tom, laughing. Provisions were bought, the camping stuff, together with the boat, was loaded upon a heavy wagon, and with good-byes to the Hendersons, the boys started for the depths of the woods. The boat had been hard to get on the wagon, and they knew they would have difficult work launching it, but the wagon-driver and his helper promised to assist. During the drive through the woods Tom and the others kept a lookout on every side for a possible glimpse of the old man who had searched so long for the mill-treasure, but they did not see him. The scenery became more and more wild, and the road was almost impassable in places. “Say, this looks like the jumping-off place,” remarked Dick, as they passed through a particularly lonely spot. “It’s just what we want,” declared Tom. “We’ll do some real camping out here.” “Yes, I guess no one will bother you,” said the driver. “No one hardly ever goes to Lake Woonset, except maybe a fellow who wants some good fishing now and then. I like it myself, but I haven’t been but twice in the last three years. It sure is lonesome.” “How much farther to the lake?” asked Dick, after a pause. “About a mile. You can see it when we get to the top of the next hill, but the road winds around.” A little later they had a glimpse of a beautiful sheet of water, set in the midst of wooded hills. “That’s great!” cried Tom, and the others agreed with him. They drove along the edge of the lake until they came to a place where a spring bubbled out, and Tom exclaimed: “Here’s where we’ll camp! Let’s unload and get the boat into the water. I want to see if she’ll run.” “Got gasolene?” asked Jack. “Yes, there’s plenty on the wagon, and I’ve arranged for a supply to be brought up to the lower end of the lake, and left there. A couple of barrels ought to last us all summer.” It was hard work to unload the boat, and harder still to launch it, but it was finally accomplished, and when the tents and camping paraphernalia had been stacked up, the driver and his helper turned back toward civilization. “Say, it sure is lonesome!” exclaimed Dick, when the rattle of the wagon had died away. “It won’t be in a minute,” said Tom. “We’ve got lots to do to get our camp in shape. Come on, now, everybody get busy, and we’ll try out the boat.” There was some little work to be done to it, and then, having filled the gasolene tank, and improvised a dock out of some dead tree trunks, the boys were ready for a spin. “Now to see if she’ll run,” remarked Tom, as he prepared to turn over the flywheel. There was a wheeze, a cough, a sigh and a groan, and the _Tag_ started off as if she had never an idea of balking. “Hurray!” cried Tom. “This is great!”