"It will be just as much fun as to stay on the sloop," answered another of the crowd. "But I don't think it will rain."
At last they came in sight of Pine Island, a narrow strip of land lying half a mile off the western shore of the lake. The island was low at either end, with something of a hill in the middle. Thick pine trees graced the hill, giving the island its name, and other trees lined the shores, with heavy brushwood between.
There was a cove on the eastern side of the island, where landing was easy, and to this cove Paul steered the Sprite. As they came closer he ordered the others to take in the jib and lower the mainsail, and the momentum of the craft carried her directly to a good anchorage. Joe threw out a boathook with a rope, and they made fast to a tree.
"Now we can go ashore," said Paul. "Don't forget to take the lunch baskets with you."
"As if we'd forget them!" cried Fred. "A sail on the lake always makes me tremendously hungry."
"This neighborhood looks a good deal different from what it did last winter," remarked Joe, as he gazed around. "Then everything was covered with ice and snow."
To get a good look at the surroundings the boys decided to climb to the top of the hill. This was not such an easy task, owing to the closeness of the trees and brushwood.
"Phew! don't go so fast!" panted Fred. "I'm all out of wind!"
"And I've torn my sleeve," came from Paul.
They paused for awhile, at the same time listening to the wind as it moaned through the pines.