There was no delay in getting on board. The lines were cast off, Bob gave two vigorous turns to the engine wheel, and with its familiar chug-chug the motor immediately responded.
As the "Rambler," with a bright-colored pennant floating at the stern, swung out and headed for midstream, a chorus of enthusiastic shouts floated off on the breeze.
A slight haze suffused the landscape, and the aspect of all nature had that indefinable charm and freshness of early morning. The sunlight bathed hills, fields and woods with a mellow glow, while off in the distance a steeple glistened brightly against the sky. A flock of noisy crows passed close overhead and disappeared beyond the crest of a hill.
Sam Randall and Dick Travers got out their shotguns, eager to try their skill should any unwary bird venture to fly too near, while Dave Brandon, the picture of contentment, stretched himself out on top of a locker.
The "Rambler" had proceeded some distance beyond Fir Island, when Tom Clifton uttered an exclamation, and began scanning the surface of the water.
"Seems to me that I hear an echo," he observed.
Sure enough, a chug-chug was borne faintly over the air, and yet it seemed impossible that it could have any connection with the "Rambler."
"It's very strange, indeed," ventured Sam Randall, in a puzzled tone. "The sound is exactly like another boat. Stop the engine, Bob, and see."
In a moment the "Rambler" was forging ahead by its own momentum, and to their eager, listening ears came a rapid, monotonous pulsating sound, the meaning of which could not be misunderstood.
"Well, that surprises me," declared Bob Somers. "I thought we had a monopoly, and yet, just as we start out—"