There was a chorus of exclamations. “Bully place!” “Say, we’ve hit the real beauty spot!” “What a camp site this would be, eh?” “How’d happen we never came here before? Looks like a crackerjack of a pond!”
Sam advanced to the water’s edge, and glanced up and down the lake. A sound of hammering from the opposite shore helped him to discover the new pavilion, taking shape in a grove nearly half a mile away; he could make out the lines of the framework and the half-hidden smaller buildings, flanking it and already completed.
“Guess we missed the road,” he said. “Ought to have taken that last turn to the right instead of the one to the left.”
“What’s the difference?” Step demanded. “I’ll bet we’ve found the prettiest place on the shore.”
Poke had been exploring the outcropping ledge.
“Look here, you fellows!” he shouted. “Say, this is the finest old council rock you ever set eyes on!”
The others joined him. On its side toward the water the mass of stone was hollowed out in a sort of half bowl or natural amphitheatre on a small scale. There was room for a score of boys, and the irregularities in the surface of the rock offered bench-like seats. Poke settled himself with an air of triumph in spite of his battered appearance.
“Sit down, everybody!” he suggested. “Let’s be comfortable, and talk it over.”
Orkney glanced at Poke’s discolored countenance.
“If the time to talk has come, you’d better begin,” he said pointedly. “I’d like to know just how you came by that shiner.”