“Will you trust yourselves in the launch?” asked Jack, when they were ready to set out.
“Will it blow up?” asked Marie.
“No, but it may stop in the middle of the lake. But we can paddle back.”
“I’ll go,” offered Natalie. “I want to see the ancient mill and the hermit thereof.”
“Old Hanson may not be in,” suggested Phil. “He’s always tramping off around the country. But we can look over his shack.”
Soon the merry party was in the launch, which, though it was a bit wheezy, like some old man with the asthma, still went along at good speed. They talked, laughed and sang, and finally reached a small dock, near which, according to the boys, was located the old mill.
“It used to grind the grist for the country round about here,” explained Phil, as they took a woodland path, so narrow that they had to walk Indian file. “Then it was on a stream that used to run into the lake. But the stream seems to have dried up to a mere ditch, and the old mill is in ruins.”
“Why didn’t I bring my camera!” exclaimed Natalie. “I love to snap old ruins.”
“You’ll have plenty of chances,” said Blake. “We’ll be here all summer, as we hope you will.”
“We may, if the foxes leave us alone,” answered Mrs. Bonnell. “Though I have plenty more of ammonia.”