"So I swam back. And here he is and here I am, and we're both pledged not to go back on Lost Island."
"Righto!" cried Tod, in great relief, Jerry could plainly see. "And dad asked me to coax you chaps to keep away from old Billings—he's a regular bear, anyway. But to make up for that, to-morrow I'm going to take you to the swellest pickerel lake you ever laid eyes on."
"You mean bass lake, don't you?" asked Jerry maliciously.
"Pickerel and bass," agreed Tod without an instant's hesitation. "Let's turn in; we want to make an early start."
It was late, however, before the camp was finally quiet, for someone started a story, and that brought on another and another, till half of the Scouts fell asleep sitting bolt upright.
But as one lone boy, the last awake, rolled near the fire in his borrowed blanket, he chuckled knowingly to himself and said:
"Foxy old Tod! Dad sure can 'trust' him. But I'm just going to be curious enough to block his little game so far as I'm concerned. I'm going to stick around!"
CHAPTER XI
A MID-AIR MIRACLE
Jerry had a hard time next morning explaining just why he couldn't go along on the proposed fishing trip. Tod was inclined to accept his excuses at face value, but Dave and Frank could not understand why Jerry should so suddenly about-face in his notions. Just the day before he had talked as if he was prepared to stay a week. But his promise of a speedy return—with his own fishing tackle—finally silenced their grumblings, especially when he agreed to make their peace with two mothers who would be asking some pretty hard questions on their own return.