"Believe me," I said, "the only civil engineer I ever talked with, did most of the talking. He wouldn't let us play ball in his lot. He was an uncivil engineer, that's what he was."
Bert said, "Well, there was a civil engineer here with a troop from out west somewhere. He was a scoutmaster. He took me on a couple of good hikes. We found some turtle shells over through there, a little farther along, and when he took a squint at the land he saw how a little valley, all grown up with weeds and brush, ran along east and west. He said that was where the creek once flowed and it didn't come within a mile of the lake. Savvy? The place where the lake is now used to be Bowl Valley. When the creek changed its bed and cut through a couple of miles south, it just filled up Bowl Valley and there you are—Black Lake. Presto chango! Funny how old Dame Nature changes her mind now and then."
"That's just the way it is with girls," I said.
Bert said, "Well, and that scoutmaster said she'd be changing her mind again some day, too. He said the topography around here is pretty shaky—whatever that means."
"Oh, boy," I said, "break it to me gently. Do you mean that some fine day we'll wake up and find Black Lake has sneaked off?"
"That's just about it," he said.
"Do you call that fair and square?" I asked; "after Mr. Temple bought the lake and gave it to Temple Camp. Believe me, it ought to be called Black Lake; it isn't very white, that's one sure thing."
"That may not happen for a thousand years," Bert said.