“No,” said Mr. Button. “We arrived here about twenty minutes ago and didn’t find a soul around anywhere. So we just made ourselves at home and decided we’d have a little luncheon.”
“I saw one of you duck behind the tent,” said George. “Then when we didn’t see you again it sort of worried us. Imagine how we felt when we saw these two rough looking men sitting under the tree here.”
“Where had you boys been?” asked Mr. Sanders.
“We went out to shoot a blue heron,” said Grant. “Ask George about it; he’ll be glad to tell you all the details,” and he nudged John who was standing next to him.
“I was the goat all right,” laughed George, and he proceeded to recount the story of how he and Fred had tried to put up a game on Grant but had had the tables turned on them.
The tale caused much merriment on the part of Mr. Button and Mr. Sanders. Curiously enough these two men happened to be the fathers of the boys who had been the victims of their own joke.
“It served them right, Grant,” laughed Mr. Button. “I hate these practical jokers and am always glad to see them fooled. I notice it usually happens that way too.”
The party had moved up to a spot directly in front of the tent now and all were seated in a circle on the ground. The day was waning and the sun was beginning to sink low in the western sky. A gray haze hung over the surrounding hills and forests. A strong wind blew off the lake.
“You know that breeze is cold,” exclaimed Mr. Button with a slight shiver, and he drew his coat closer about him.
“Why shouldn’t it be?” demanded Mr. Sanders. “It’s almost fall now and the summer is practically over.”