Right across the road, which followed the course of the lake, and almost directly opposite the house, was Mr. Barton's private wharf. Besides several canoes, he owned the sailboats "Speedy" and "Spray." Both were about twenty feet long, but the former was narrow of beam and built mainly for the purpose which its name implied.
"What a grand summer we'll have," cried Tom Clifton, enthusiastically, as he stooped over to examine the trim-looking craft.
"Well, I rather guess so," said Sam. "But it's time now to get over and see Fenton."
Back to the yellow road they trudged. It led past farmhouses, and fields with growing crops, or orchards containing many kinds of fruit trees. It was a rich and fertile valley. Here and there, flowers grew in rich profusion, roses, lilac and rhododendrons mingling their color in harmonious contrasts.
The village was about half a mile from Rickham House. It had enjoyed a boom as a health resort, on account of newly-discovered springs near by, and the Resort House was one of the results which followed. Another hotel was in the near future.
The boys found a few loungers on the porch of the hotel. They stared at the Ramblers curiously. One in particular—a typical mountaineer—seemed the most interested. He was a tall, thin man, with deeply wrinkled face, scraggly brownish beard, and wore an expression which Dick Travers declared "made 'Big Bill's' face seem positively mirthful."
"Wal, wal! what's all this?" he growled. "Where did this parcel of boys drop from?"
"Not from an air-ship, that's sure," replied Dick, flippantly.
"That ain't answerin' my question, youngster. Be you a-goin' ter stay long?"
"Long enough to knock over a grizzly or two," laughed Dick. "Ever see any?"