A little more than a mile from the outermost homes of Ogleport, in a direct line, lay Skanigo Lake.

A beautiful sparkling sheet of water was Skanigo, and it always mixed itself up, somehow, with Puff Evans’s ideas of Paradise; but the Rev. Dr. Solomon Dryer could never forget his great attempt, one December “examination day,” to obtain a physical description of it from Zebedee Fuller.

Not, however, because his questions were not fully and accurately answered, somewhat as follows:

“Of what shape is Skanigo Lake, Master Fuller?”

“Round, sir.”

“Round?”

“Yes, sir; ’round among the hills, ’way up, as far as it can go.”

[Pg 207]“Ah, yes. You do not altogether comprehend my interrogatory. But what profundity does it attain? How deep is it?”

“Varies very much, sir.”

“Exactly. An admirable response. But when is it deepest?”

“In July, sir.”

“July?”

“Yes, sir. No depth at all in winter. Bottom freezes hard and gets on top, sir.”

“We will put you in natural philosophy, next term, Master Fuller. But what are the longitudinal and lateral extent—the width and length, I mean, of Skanigo?”

“Has none, sir.”

“No length or width?”

“No, sir. Puff Evans told me he’d caught everything there was in that lake. All his fault, sir.”

The Baptist and Presbyterian ministers came to Dr. Dryer’s assistance at that point, for they were both good fishermen, and Zebedee escaped from the remaining geography of Skanigo.

In that brief ten minutes, however, he had won[Pg 208] the lasting good-will of Euphemia Dryer and the settled enmity of her stepmother.

On the morning after the bell and heifer mystery, no sooner was breakfast over than Bar and Val gathered together their fishing-gear, and were off to make acquaintance with Skanigo for themselves.

The walk was nothing at all, nor was it difficult to find the way to the curiously constructed dwelling of Puff Evans. The land thereabout was the supposed heritage of a non-resident family of “minor heirs,” and Puff had settled himself in a little cove with no more trouble of mind about his lack of title than a wild Indian or a Western “squatter.”

He did no manner of harm. In fact, he had actually “improved” a few acres, managing to have, as Zeb Fuller said: “The kindest-hearted, best-natured crops in the world; the only potatoes ever heard of that did their own hoeing.”

Between his scanty but “good-natured” acres and the liberal bosom of Skanigo, however, Puff succeeded in providing for the natural wants of himself, his very congenial wife, and a swarm of little Puffs, whose only need of clothing, as remarked[Pg 209] by Zebedee, was to conceal their fins and scales.

“Pity Puff drinks,” said Zeb to Gershom Todderley one day. “Sometime he’ll make a mistake and bring in those young ones of his, all cleaned, on a string with his other fish. And there won’t one of ’em suspect but what it’s all right. Good pan-fish they’d make, too.”

Bar and Val found Puff down by the waterside, proudly contemplating the very neat proportions and finish of his favorite property.

“It’d ha’ just broke my heart to ha’ lost that there boat,” he said, after exchanging a very enthusiastic greeting with his young visitors. “And now I’d a liked to ha’ gone off with ye, but I’ve made up my mind on somethin’ else for to-day, an’ I don’t see how I kin change it.”

“Don’t change it on our account,” said Bar. “Just tell us where to go, and we’ll take care of ourselves.”

It would have taken the boys a good month to have followed all the directions that Puff gave them, for he hardly stopped talking until they were out of ear-shot. Even then he stood knee-deep in the water by the shore, gazing fondly after the[Pg 210] graceful little vessel, as if he half deemed it a breach of faith that he was not on board of her.

“Which way’d we better go, Val?” asked Bar.

“Right up the lake, not far out,” said Val. “Then we can drop anchor and fish for perch while you walk into your Latin.”

“All right,” said Bar.

And all right it was, for the rowing was good fun of itself, and it seemed as if there were new things worth looking at to be seen with every fresh pull at the oars.

“This’ll do,” said Val, at last. “Puff’s put rope enough on this grapnel to anchor anywhere in the lake. He’s fond of deep-water fishing. Pulls up right big ones, sometimes—bass, pickerel, and now and then a lake trout. He says the fish are changing. Somebody put thousands and thousands of young ones in a few years ago.”

“Rope? I should say he had,” remarked Bar. “Did I tell you Mr. Brayton took the bell-rope over to the Doctor’s house?”

“Did he?” said Val. “Wonder if he’s any idea who did all that, or how it was done.”

“I have now,” said Bar. “That heifer came in through one of the basement doors.”

[Pg 211]“Of course,” said Val; “but they were all barred on the inside.”

“And opened from the inside to let her in. Then it was easy to close ’em all up behind her, fix her horns in the bell-rope and get away.”

“But how did they get in or out?”

“I’ll show you that, too, when we set our own trap for the bell,” said Bar. “I found out when Mr. Brayton and I were going up into the belfry. The rest of them haven’t guessed it, unless Mr. Brayton himself has. If he did, he forgot to tell me.”

“Our trap?” asked Val. “Are we going to set one?”

“Why, Val,” said Bar, “didn’t you hear all they had to say yesterday, about our house being haunted?”

“Yes, and Mrs. Wood didn’t seem to more&............