“Oh, I do hope you don’t run across him!” exclaimed Mrs. Henderson. “He’s really dangerous,” and she proceeded to give a few more details of the story of the secret of the mill, already substantially known to my readers.
Tom and his chums asked innumerable questions, as to how to reach the mill, and where the best spot to camp would be.
“I can see what those boys are pointing for,” said Mr. Henderson when the four had gone to bed.
“What?” asked his wife.
“The old mill. You couldn’t keep ’em away with ropes. They’ll go poking about it, looking for that treasure, which I don’t believe exists, and they’ll have a row with old Wallace as sure as chickens.”
“Oh, Amos! What had we better do?”
“Can’t do anything, as I can see. Those boys will do as they please, anyhow. But I guess they can look out for themselves.”
Early the next morning Tom went to see about getting the boat and other stuff carted to the camp in the woods. On the advice of Mr. Henderson they had picked out the east shore of the lake, that being the nearest to Wilden.
“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.