“Where?”
“Why, down there, right away by the old tree clump—right out yonder.”
“There can’t be a way out there, because we should have seen it.”
“Perhaps it’s covered up so as to keep it hidden till it was wanted.”
“Let’s go and see. But, stop a moment. We don’t want another way in, now we’ve got this.”
“No,” said Scarlett. “I don’t know, though. Let’s go and see.”
“All right; it will dry my legs,” replied Fred. And, getting up, the two lads made their way down to the head of the little bay nearest to the house, and then worked along among the alders which hung over the lake till they came to the part of the old forest Scarlett had named—an evergreen patch of about an acre, on which stood a dozen or two of the finest trees in the park.
“Why,” cried Scarlett, “I remember old Dee—”
“Nat’s father?”
“Yes—saying that there once used to be a boathouse down here.”