“Then let’s rename it Ellen’s Isle, after the one in ‘The Lady of the Lake,’” said Gladys promptly. “It’s our island and we can change the name if we want to. How important it makes you feel to own so much scenery to do what you like with!”
18“Ellen’s Isle” seemed such a suitable name for the beautiful little island that they all wondered how anyone could ever have called it anything else, even for a minute. One side of it curved in a tiny crescent, and there the water was calm and shallow, running up on a smooth, sandy beach. Behind the beach the land rose in a steep bluff for about fifty feet and stood high out of the water, its grim, rocky sides giving it the look of a mediæval castle. A steep path wound up the hillside, crossed in many places by the roots of trees growing along the slope, which were both a help in gaining a foothold and a fruitful source of mishap if you happened to be in too much of a hurry.
On three sides of the island the waves dashed high against the rocky cliffs, filling the sleepers in the tents with pleasant terrors at night. The island being so high it afforded a fine view of the country round. On the one side rose the heavily wooded slopes of the mainland, with the spires and roofs of St. Pierre in the distance. A mile or so to the left of St. Pierre a lighthouse stood out in the water, gleaming white against the dark land behind it. It was only visible by day, however, for it was no longer used as a beacon. The changing of the channel and the building of the breakwater in the harbor of St. Pierre had made it necessary to have the light there and the old one was abandoned. It now stood silent and lonely, gradually falling into decay under 19 the buffeting of wind and waves. Looking south from the island the eye was greeted only by a wide waste of waters; the seemingly endless waters of Lake Huron. This was the place where the Winnebagos and the Sandwiches, with Mr. and Mrs. Evans and Uncle Teddy and Aunt Clara, had come to spend the summer.
Katherine finished making the toast, and stacking it up in a tempting pile she set the plate in the hot ashes to keep warm while she turned her attention to mixing the corn fritter batter.
“Want me to help fry?” offered the Captain obligingly. “It’ll take you a year to do enough for sixteen people.”
“Indeed, and I’m not thinking of frying the batter,” replied Katherine, breaking the corner off a piece of toast and sampling it. “There are four frying pans; that’s one to every four persons; they can each fry their own with neatness and dispatch. I belong to the Society for the Prevention of Leaving It All to the Cook! Blow the horn there, that’s part of the Second Cook’s job.”
“What’s the matter with the family this morning?” she asked when the first blast had echoed itself away without any other reply. “They don’t seem to be in any great hurry for breakfast.” The Captain blew several more long, lusty blasts, which were answered by shouts from different directions of the compass.
20“Now they’ll be here in a minute,” said Katherine, turning to look at the lake, which was her chief delight these days. “Oh, look!” she cried. “The gulls are coming already! I believe they heard the horn and know what it means.” The white birds were flying down on the beach in large numbers patiently waiting for the scraps, which would be thrown to them when the meal was finished. Katherine and the Captain watched them with interest and delight. A crunching sound behind them made them turn quickly and there they saw Sandhelo calmly helping himself to the toast on the plate.
“Shoo! Get out!” cried Katherine, snatching the plate away and pelting him with pine cones and lumps of dirt. Sandhelo licked his lips and regarded her benevolently, but never a step did he take. Then he sat up on his haunches and begged for more toast by waving his forefeet. He was perfectly irresistible and Katherine just had to give him another piece. The hungry campers reached the spot in time to witness the performance and protested vigorously against having their breakfast devoured by a donkey.
“First come, first served,” remarked Katherine. “Sandhelo always comes the minute the horn blows and that’s more than the rest of you do. Sit down, and help yourselves to batter. The grease is already in the pans. You can each fry your own fritters.”