“It sure is wild,” said Jack, as he gazed about.
“It’s just the cheese though,” declared Tom. “We couldn’t have picked out a better place.”
“And as soon as we get busy on the secret of the old mill there may be lots of happenings,” added Bert.
A week passed, during which our friends enjoyed life to the utmost. They fished, and as the lake had seldom been visited by devotees of the rod and line it proved a garden spot for such sport. One had but to throw in a line to have a bite. They hunted, too, but as the season was not open they managed to kill only a few foxes and skunks, and, as their fur was not of much value in the summer, even this they gave up as rather unprofitable work.
“It’s the mill we want to head for,” insisted Jack. “Come on, Tom, let’s get up an expedition and go there. We can go in the boat, for, as you say, the mill is on the river that runs into the lake. Come on.”
“All right, we’ll go to-morrow,” agreed Tom.
Accordingly, having set their camp to rights, and having put up a lunch, for they would not be back to dinner, they set off in the Tag, heading up the lake to where the river entered it.
“She’s running better than she did at home,” remarked Dick to Tom, as he looked at the puffing motor.