"But we've got to clean out the boat and clean up ourselves," came from
Fred. "Come, fellows, wind up and put away your hooks and poles."
He started and the others followed. Then Fred and Powell took the oars, and the return to camp was begun. Not caring to go back the same way they had come, they sped along the opposite shore of the lake, where were located several coves and cliffs of rock.
"This is as pretty as the other shore," remarked Songbird. And he began:
"Oh, dreamy days in summer time,
When purling brooks and shady nooks—"
"If you start up again I'll jump overboard," interrupted Tom.
"Do so, you need a cooling off," grunted Powell; but that was the end of the poetry for the time being.
They were just passing one of the coves when they caught sight of a man sitting on an overhanging tree, fishing.
"Hullo, what luck?" cried Fred, good-naturedly.
"Fair," was the somewhat surly answer. Then, as the man caught sight of the others in the boat, he turned his head away.
"That fellow looks familiar to me," ejaculated Sam, in sudden and strong excitement.