"All of twenty feet in the place our anchor went down," replied the skipper, promptly, "it's a regular hole, such as the trout like to lie in during the hot dog days of late summer."
"Glad to hear you say that," observed Bumpus; but he did not explain whether his pleasure lay in the fact that any would-be boarders might find it difficult to cross over from the rocks to the boat; or that there were likely to be fish in the pool, affording a chance for a nibble at the tempting bait he had dropped overboard, attached to the concealed hook at the end of his line.
"If anybody came along here just on purpose to take a good look at us, whereabouts d'ye think they'd be likely to show up, first of all, Thad?" Step Hen wanted to know.
"I was thinking about that a minute ago, Step Hen," replied the scout-master; "and sort of made up my mind they'd be apt to climb that pile of rocks yonder. You see, it overlooks this pool, and a man might lie there near the top and watch us all he wanted, provided the moon came out, and gave him the light he'd need."
Everybody thereupon cast an eye aloft.
"I'm afraid that moon business is just what's going to happen right soon," observed Giraffe.
"Yes, there isn't going to be a storm after all," remarked the skipper; "clouds are breaking night now, and it was a false alarm, you see."
"Well, hardly, with me," ventured Bumpus; whereupon everybody tittered, because they knew what the fat scout meant; and there were three others, who, if they were as candid as Bumpus, might have added:
"Me too!"
Half an hour passed by, and they were really getting tired, for it was now in the neighborhood of half-past ten o'clock, as Thad told them the last time he consulted his little dollar watch that gave him so much satisfaction in all his outings.