“There’s a genuine gentleman for you,” Bob declared a little later as they were paddling up the lake.
“You said it,” Jack agreed.
There was only a light wind blowing and the canoe moved rapidly through the water as they dug deep with the paddles, anxious to reach the camp where they hoped excitement awaited them.
“If we get time while we’re up here we must climb Katahdin,” Bob said after they had gone a couple of miles.
“We’ll do that thing,” Jack agreed.
Chesuncook Lake is about twenty miles long and for the most part narrow, the distance across being not more than two miles in the widest place, so they were never very far from land. The shore is heavily wooded, the giant spruces growing almost to the water’s edge except where huge rocks gave their roots no chance. It is a wild country, the camp to which they were going, being the only one within many miles.
“I’ll say this looks like a good haunting ground for ghosts,” Jack laughed as he rested for the moment.
“And a place where they’re apt to be pretty hard to find,” Bob added.
“I reckon that must be the camp,” Bob cried a little later, pointing with his paddle.
“Must be since it’s the only one on the lake,” Jack agreed as he swung the canoe toward the shore.