An amused snicker from Bill was followed by Larry’s asking another question.
“This is the Cotterell house, isn’t it? There’s some old yarn about it, seems to me I’ve heard.”
“Did you ever hear of an old house that didn’t have some yarn attached to it?” demanded Tuckerman.
“Change the subject, Lanky,” sang out Bill. “’Tisn’t fair to pry into the family’s secrets.”
“Right you are.” Larry stretched his arms. “Well, the question before us is how are we going to get back to camp before they find that canoe, and us missing?”
Tom went to the kitchen door and looked out. “The storm isn’t over yet,” he announced. “Couldn’t you lads stay to supper? If you will, I’ll sail you back afterwards. Likely as not the water’ll be smooth as a mill-pond in an hour or so.”
“They won’t be looking for you at your camp yet,” said Tuckerman. “They’ll think you landed somewhere, and are waiting for the squall to blow over.”
“We’ll stay to supper,” said Bill. “It would be a shame to have you fellows get wet again on account of us.”
David jumped up. “We’ve got provisions stowed away right here in the kitchen.” Rolling up his sleeves, he gave directions to his assistant cooks.
The kitchen of Cotterell Hall had never seen as much activity as it did in the next half hour, with the result that a sumptuous feast was soon set out on the table.