“Yes; and you were going over yonder without me?”
Scarlett sat tapping the gunwale of the boat with the pot, having ceased to bale.
“Yes, I knew you were,” continued Fred, in an altered tone, as the other remained silent.
“Come, now, confess.”
“I don’t know that I need call it confessing,” said Scarlett, throwing back his head and speaking haughtily. “It’s our boat, and our lake, and that place is all ours.”
“Yes; but we were schoolfellows, and we found it together.”
Scarlett winced a little at this. “And you were going to steal a march and find it all out by yourself. I do call it mean,” cried Fred, angrily. “I didn’t think you’d do such a thing, Scar, and—”
“You thought just the same,” said Scarlett, quickly, “and meant to take the boat before I was up, and that’s why you are here.”
He looked sharply at Fred, who thrust his hands in his pockets, and suddenly became interested in the movements of a bald coot, which was paddling in and out among the reeds which grew right into the lake.
“There now, you’re found out too, and you’re as bad as I am,” cried Scarlett.