That Saturday morning dawned fair enough in Ogleport.

To be sure, there were a few clouds lurking along the far away outlines of the hills, but they did not seem to amount to anything in particular; not even enough to justify Mrs. Dryer in bringing such a very cloudy face to the breakfast-table.

She had said all she had to say, and that was no very small thing, to the Doctor, before they went to sleep the night before and as soon as they waked up that morning, but she had somehow failed in getting a fair chance at Euphemia.

In fact, for once in her life, to say the very least, Effie Dryer’s face was not altogether sunny. The usually smiling mouth had settled into lines that betokened a mind made up and a temper not to be trifled with.

It is barely possible that her father’s third wife[Pg 328] had sense enough to understand the meaning of Effie’s face, and so, although there were clouds enough at that end of the breakfast-table, they followed the good example of those on the hills and waited a better opportunity before breaking into anything like a storm.

As for George Brayton, he had decided that the trip to the lake should not be a “walk,” and Runner’s best pair of horses, in front of what he was pleased to call a “baroosh,” were on hand in due time to transport the sailing-party, lunch and all.

Mrs. Wood had taken especial pains in the preparation of the lunch, and even Zeb Fuller would have been compelled to admit that there was nothing “ghostly” about it.

There was a funny sort of smile on Mrs. Dryer’s face when that span of horses was pulled up in front of the Doctor’s residence, but she had no other use for it than to keep it in its proper place, above her teeth, till Effie had taken her seat beside George Brayton and the “baroosh” disappeared beyond the trees of the village green.

Then, indeed, her learned husband was glad enough to plead several engagements with the[Pg 329] Academy trustees and hurry away to keep them.

Prompt as had been the departure of Bar and Val and their friends, Zebedee Fuller and his faithful cronies had the start of them and were already tempting the perch and pickerel, when the “baroosh” came to a standstill in front of the somewhat heterogeneous home of Puff Evans.

“It’s all right,” said Puff to Bar. “She’s ready, name and all. There’s heaps of bait under the seat and it’s a right down good day for fishin’. Only there may be squalls.”

“Squalls?”

The word lingered in Bar Vernon’s ear for a moment, but just then Effie Dryer exclaimed:

“There she is. The prettiest boat on all Skanigo!”

“Why, so she is,” replied Sibyl, “a very pretty boat, indeed. What’s her name, Mr. Vernon?”

“Name?” repeated Bar, as the color began to climb up across his face.

“There it is,” exclaimed Effie, “painted on the stern. Can’t you read? S-i-b-b-l-e, Sibble. Why, what a queer name. Did Puff name her?”

“I should say he had,” exclaimed George Brayton,[Pg 330] as he burst into a roar of laughter. “Don’t you see, Sibyl? She’s named after you. Only a few letters out of the way, that’s all.”

Poor Bar!

Puff was attending to something else just then, and Val Manning stood just where he could poke his elbow into Bar’s ribs without being noticed.

As for Sibyl Brayton, she did not seem to see where the fun came in, but stepped right forward into the boat, like a brave and good girl as she was. Even Effie Dryer followed her with a face that was all one twinkle, but that did not let a single laugh get loose.

There was need of at least one term at the Academy for Puff Evans, that was clear, and Bar was glad enough to busy himself with the fishing-tackle.

His intended compliment had become a thing to be hidden from Zebedee Fuller, lest it should be carved on half the loose boards of Ogleport.

There were only five of them, and the trim little craft did not seem to care a fig for a lighter load, as she danced away on the blue waves of Skanigo.

George Brayton himself was a very good hand with a boat and he handled the graceful little[Pg 331] Sibyl in a way that made her passengers forget how very badly her name had been spelled for her.

Miles and miles away, up the lake, sped the gay-hearted cruisers, right past the spot where Zeb Fuller and his friends were steadily pulling in their victims, until they reached a land-locked sort of bay which Puff had indicated as a “sure thing for good fishin’!”

Here, indeed, the sail came down and the anchor was thrown over, and Effie Dryer altogether forgot her stepmother in the unwonted excitement of watching for nibbles.

The nibbles came, too, plenty of them, and Val Manning earned a new title to his chum’s devotion by the forbearance with which he allowed Bar not only to bait Sibyl Brayton’s hook, but to take off and consign to the “fish-car” for her every finny fellow who was reckless enough to bite hard and stay on in spite of her unskilful management of her line.

Effie Dryer had been on the lake many a time before, and had a very good opinion of her own skill, but she was somehow contented to allow George Brayton to follow the example Bar Vernon set him.

[Pg 332]Fishing is sure to become tiresome in due time, however, even if the biting is liberal, and before noon all hands were ready to see the sail hoisted again.

Then there was a “voyage of discovery” up and down the rugged line of the lake shore, to find a suitable place for their picnic.

Plenty of them there were, but it would not do to throw away the fun of choosing, and at last they pitched upon a spot, at the head of a deep cove, shadowed by great rocks and tall overhanging trees.

The Sibyl was hauled ashore; the girls were helped out; a blazing fire was kindled; coffee was made; the contents of Mrs. Wood’s ample basket were brought to light; and then it was shortly discovered that the best thing in the world to secure a good appetite was to take a few hours of sailing and fishing on Skanigo.

It was at the end of the lunch that Val Manning once more covered his unselfish head with glory, for he volunteered to look out for the boat and the “things” while George Brayton and Bar Vernon took the young ladies for a stroll among the rocks and trees, and up and down the shore.

[Pg 333]Splendid fun that was, but Bar Vernon was yet a good deal of a “boy,” for one of the first things he said to his companion was:

“You mustn’t think I didn’t know how to spell your name. That was all Puff Evans’s fault.”

“Then you really did name your boat after me?” asked Sibyl.

“Of course I did,” said Bar. “You are the only Sibyl I ever knew.”

“It was very kind of you,” she answered, gently; “and I think she is a beautiful little boat.”

There was not a prouder fellow on or about Skanigo Lake at that moment, than Mr. Barnaby Vernon.

That sort of thing could not last forever, though it might be ever so pleasant, and Val Manning’s self-imposed watch at the shore was shortly terminated.

It was not quite so warm or sunny just now, and if Puff Evans had been within speaking distance, it is very likely he would have spoken a word of warning, but the party in the boat had not the least idea in the world that any danger[Pg 334] to them could be lurking among the clouds and hills.

Perhaps there was not, indeed, for their only real danger was in their own ignorance and sense of security.

“Boys,” Zeb Fuller had remarked a few minutes before, “there’s a squall coming. We’d better pull up the lake. City folks are all fools, you know, and there’s no telling what may happen to ’em.”

Good for Zeb, only he came very near being too late, in spite of his wise forethought.

Th............