It was not far through the fir-trees. You could see the water glittering in the sunshine before you were half-way, but the Skipper had to stop twice.
"There's a nest up that tree," he said. "Wood-pigeon's. I could climb up there."
"See how dirty it would make your clothes," cried Dot.
"Well, they could be washed," said her brother, in his lordly way. But he thought better of the climbing, and they went on, with their feet slipping in the fir-needles, till Dot dropped one of the sticks she carried and caught at her brother's arm.
"What's that?" she whispered.
"Bird: woodpecker tapping. There it is again."
For a sharp sound was heard from close at hand, and directly after they caught sight of the little fellow that made the noise—a bright-looking bird with black and white markings and some scarlet feathers about its head.
The next minute it flew to another tree, and Dot picked up the stick she had dropped, and followed her brother out of the shady grove into the sunshine, to stand on the sandy shore of the beautiful lake of clear water, from which their home took its name of "The Pool House." One side of the broad piece of water was sheltered by fir-trees, but the other was open, and from where they stood they could look right across it to the deep blue sea.
"Can you see Papa's ship, Bob?" asked Dot.