“Does that man at the camp, Jacques, I think you called him, believe in them?”
“I’m not quite sure about that,” Bob told her. “He says that he does not, but most all of the French and half-breeds around here do. Of course he may be an exception. You see he’s really quite an intelligent fellow even if he is a breed.”
They found the luggage where it had been left and, quickly getting it aboard, they made a speedy run up the lake getting back to the camp just as Jacques was blowing the dinner horn.
“That’s some engine,” Jack declared as he passed the trunk up to Bob. “Didn’t miss a stroke all the way.”
Three days passed and, much to the disgust of the boys, nothing happened that even remotely suggested ghosts. Mrs. Sleeper was plainly disappointed, but her husband took it as a matter of course, giving it as his opinion that the whole thing had probably been nothing more than a boyish prank. But the time had by no means hung heavily on their hands. Despite her years they found the girl, Helen, as Jack declared, a regular sport. She fished with them and they were amazed at her skill with the fly rod. She swam with them and Jack, who was rightly proud of his attainments in the water, had to exert himself to the utmost to keep ahead of her in the many races which they had.
“She ought to have been a boy,” he confided to Bob one day as he watched her slender form enter the water, making hardly a ripple, as she dove from the top of a precipitous rock nearly twelve feet above the lake.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Bob replied. “She’s pretty nice just as she is.”
“Ahem.”
“Nothing like that,” Bob laughed. “But you’ll agree that she is all to the good.”
“And then some,” Jack nodded his head.