It was nearly a mile from the council rock to the road on which the club was to meet Lon Gates on his return from the Ridge; and as the afternoon was well advanced the boys made a forced march of it. All of them were panting from a dog-trot across the last field, when they came to the highway, and saw the Parker car approaching at a leisurely pace. So, when Lon pulled up and grinned at them cheerfully, evidencing no desire for haste, none of them was in a hurry to climb into the machine.
“What did you think of the pond?” Lon inquired. “And how’s the modern improvements progressin’? Gettin’ to be quite meetropolitan, eh?”
Sam laughed. “We could see a lot of building going on, but we didn’t notice a crowd, Lon. Fact is, we stayed on the other side of the lake.”
“Stumbled on a bully place and tied up there,” Step contributed.
Lon wagged his head sagely. “Reckon you made the best pick, at that. As I remember it, the pootiest side of the pond is across from the syndicate’s land. And there used to be a big rock——”
“Scooped out toward the water—like part of a saucer, you know?” Poke broke in.
“That’s the feller.”
“Well, it’s there yet.”
Lon’s eyes twinkled. “Do tell! And yet I don’t know as it’s so surprisin’, rocks havin’ a way o’ stayin’ put. Set a good example for folks, don’t they? But, as I was sayin’, I remember that old rock and the fishin’ we used to have jest opposite it—bass, mostly. And up back a piece was a spring. I tell you, boys, if I was goin’ campin’ at the pond, that’s jest about where I’d tie up.”
“It did seem to be a good place, and I’d——” Sam began, but paused in mid-sentence. “Why—what’s that?”