They had done their little errand of mercy and on the way back Cora proposed that they stop at Ye Olde Spinning Wheel for some tea or ice cream, as the girls preferred.

They had the place practically to themselves, as it was not the hour when most motorists stopped for refreshments. Cora and her chums spoke to the manager, and noticed that she seemed a bit downcast.

“What is the matter?” asked Cora.

“Oh, it’s something that happened last night. You know I told you I had two tickets for the opera. My friend gave me the money to get them, and I bought them off the two young fellows who were here one day last week.”

“Yes, it was the time my auto was taken,” Cora said.

“Of course! I ought to have remembered. Well, I bought two tickets for the opera from those men at a reduced price.”

“And couldn’t your friend go with you?” asked Belle sympathetically.

“Oh, yes. He came for me all right. But when we went to go in they wouldn’t let us.”

“Who wouldn’t let you, those two young men?” asked Cora eagerly.

“No, I only wish it had been the young men. I’d have had ’em arrested. But the doorkeeper would not let me and my friend in on those tickets.”

“Why not?” asked Bess.

“Because he said they were counterfeit. And after my friend had given me his good money for them. I was that angry I could have cried! Counterfeit tickets! What do you know about that?”

CHAPTER VI—OFF TO CAMP

“‘What I saved on the tickets,’ I told him, and I mentioned how I’d bought two from the fellows who were here trying to sell some railroad transportation as well. My friend was quite pleased, of course, for he has to work hard for his money. ’This’ll do to help get a lunch after the show,’ he said, and I was glad.

“Well, we got to the opera house all right, but they wouldn’t let us in. That is, they wouldn’t give us the seats our coupons called for. We did get in, but when we went to the seats there was a couple already in them.

“My friend thought the usher had made a mistake, and there was a mix-up for a while. Then the usher got the other couple’s coupons and they were the same number as ours. They called the manager, and he said our tickets were counterfeit.

“First my friend wouldn’t believe it, but the manager showed by the other tickets taken in that ours were different. The print was the same, and so was the color of the pasteboard, but it was stiffer than the regular tickets. There was no way out of it. We had been cheated, and so had some other people who had bought tickets from those fellows. There was quite a disturbance.”

“It’s too bad!” exclaimed Cora. “Then you didn’t see the opera after all?”

“Oh, sure I did!” exclaimed Miss Magin. “My friend wouldn’t see me disappointed. He bought other tickets, though they weren’t as good as the ones I had—or thought I had.”

“And they really were counterfeit?” repeated Bess.

“Yes, but cleverly done. It was only the quality of the paper, or pasteboard, that showed,” went on the tea room manager. “If we had gotten there first we might have had our seats without any trouble, though of course when the folks came in that had the real tickets it would have been found out, I s’pose.”

“And you say others also bought the bogus tickets?” Cora asked.

“Yes, quite a few. Got them from the same fellows, too, who told the same story about being hard up for cash, and wanting to sell the tickets they’d purchased.”

“Were they the same young men?” asked Belle.

“The descriptions were the same as the two who were here, and who must have taken your auto, Miss Kimball. When I found out our tickets were worthless I told the manager about your car, though of course he had heard of it from reading the paper. Oh! I just wish I could have them arrested!”

“So do I,” agreed Cora.

“Could they find out where the tickets were printed?” asked Bess.

“Not just by looking at them,” answered Miss Magin. “The bogus ones looked for all the world like the real ones, even to the company’s name that was printed on them. But the opera house manager kept those my friend and I turned in and said he’d make an investigation. Say! I felt pretty cheap when it turned out I’d bought bogus tickets with my friend’s money.”

“Oh! you couldn’t help it,” Cora said, her chums murmuring their agreement.

“Well, I meant all right,” Miss Magin went on, “but I cost my friend more than if I hadn’t a’ been so soft-hearted wanting to help out those fellows who told a hard-luck story.”

“They’ll be caught some day,” declared Bess. “Printing bogus theatrical tickets isn’t easily done. Care has to be used, and sooner or later those fellows will be arrested.”

“The sooner the better,” said Cora. “I want my car back.”

The girls and the manager talked for some little time longer about the happenings of the night before. Presently a man alighted from a taxicab, or rather, one of the town’s few jitney cars, and entered the tea room. He looked rather sharply at our friends—at least so Cora thought—and, taking a seat at a table not far away, ordered a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

He spoke casually to the waitress, and as Miss Magin, as was her custom, walked up to see if the service was satisfactory, he spoke also to her pleasantly, and she replied.

“Was it one of the young ladies here who recently purchased some bogus theatre tickets?” the man asked, after some casual remarks.

“I hope you haven’t any more to sell!” retorted the manager, a bit sharply.

“No. I am a detective sent out by the agency which prints theatre tickets for many shows. This isn’t the first time we have had trouble, and I want, if possible, to get on the track of the persons responsible. Do you mind telling me all you can of this?”

Of course Miss Magin was only too glad to do so, and, incidentally, she mentioned the loss of Cora’s automobile. Naturally that brought our friends into the conversation, and the detective, who introduced himself as Mr. Boswell, went over to the girls’ table. He spoke of having been for some time unsuccessfully on the trail of the bogus ticket sellers.

“Taking automobiles is a new line for their activities, though,” said Mr. Boswell. “This may make it easier to catch them.”

“Of course,” suggested Cora, “we are not altogether certain that the same persons who sold Miss Magin the tickets took my auto.”

“Very likely they were,” declared the detective. “They probably realized that they had done all the illegitimate business possible in this neighborhood, and they wanted to get as far away as they could before the fact about the tickets became known. An auto offered the simplest means.”

“I should have locked the ignition switch,” said Cora. “I usually do when I get out. But we thought we would stay only a little while, so I didn’t do it this time.”

“Too bad,” said Mr. Boswell. “If I get on the track of your car, Miss Kimball, I’ll let you know.”

He made a memorandum of the description of the two men as furnished by Miss Magin, and took his departure, promising to let Cora hear from him in case anything developed.

“More of the mystery,” remarked Bess, as she and the others were on their way back in the automobile. “What with this and what may happen at Camp Surprise, I can see we are in for a busy summer.”

And busy enough the girls were during the next week. There were trunks to pack, messages to send to the caretakers at the camp, dresses to have finished in time, and many odds and ends to be looked after before leaving for so long a time.

“There’s a nice dancing pavilion not far away,” Cora told her chums. “And of course there’ll be one or two formal affairs at a neighboring hotel.”

Hazel Hastings had come on to be Cora’s guest and was staying at the Kimball house. She was the same sweet girl as before, though a little older, and not quite so timid as she had been.

Paul was the same jolly chap, quite engrossed in his automobile business, but not so much so that he could not enjoy the little outing in prospect.

“I’ve sent a description of your car, with the number of it, the number of the engine and other identifying marks, to all the second hand dealers,” he told Cora. “If it’s offered for sale to any one in the dealers’ association I’ll hear of it and there’s a chance that we’ll get it back for you.

“Of course there are some ‘outlaw dealers’ who do not belong to the association, and who might take a chance on buying a stolen car,” said the young automobile agent. “But we can’t help that. I think we’ll get your machine sooner or later.”

Cora was grateful for Paul’s efforts, but she had about given up hope. The police had secured no clews, and, though they professed to be active, there really was little for them to do.

The motor boat had been overhauled and put in shape for the trip up the Chelton river. Though the craft offered accommodations for sleeping on board they did not plan to use the berths on this occasion. They were to make an early start and reach Riverhead, the end of navigation on the Chelton, early in the afternoon. From Riverhead they would go to Camp Surprise in wagons of the buckboard type, made with wooden slats for springs, very comfortable to ride in over rough roads.

The boys were to go with the girls, Jack and his sister acting as chaperons for the others until camp was reached, when Mr. and Mrs. Floyd would perform this office.

Light baggage would be taken with them on the boat, the trunks being sent on ahead.

“And we’ll take lunch along, of course,” Bess said.

“Of course,” echoed her sister. “We don’t want to go hungry any more than do you.”

The day of departure came at last. Bess and Belle were early at Cora’s house, and found her, Jack, Paul and Hazel busy making the final preparations.

The valises and bundles were carried down to the motor boat, good-byes were said over and over again, various cautions were given by Mrs. Kimball and Mrs. Robinson, and then Cora, standing at the wheel of the craft, steered out into the middle of the pretty stream.

“Off for Camp Surprise!” she cried gaily.

CHAPTER VII—JACK’S BATH

“Something ridiculous, I’m sure of that,” ventured Cora.

“No, something really classy. How’s this,” and Jack quickly printed on a piece of paper the name now glinting on either bow of the craft.

“Corbelbes,” repeated his sister. “That isn’t half bad. What is it, Spanish or Latin?”

“It’s French for curling iron and face powder,” laughed Jack.

“You mean thing!”

“No, it isn’t, Sis. Don’t you see, it’s the first part of the names of all three of you.”

“Oh, so it is.” Cora was smiling now.

“What better name could you have for a boat?” Jack demanded. “It’s something distinctive and individual.”

Cora and her chums agreed with him, and the motor boat became the Corbelbes, and as such had remained.

“Does she steer all right, Cora, with the new tiller ropes on?” asked Jack, as he lolled lazily on one of the cushioned lockers, which, at night, could be turned into comfortable bunks.

“A bit stiff,” responded his sister.

“Well, the ropes will stretch, after they’ve been used a bit, so it’s just as well to have them tight now. You get quicker action when you turn the wheel, though the river will not be crowded after we get up a way.”

Bess, Belle and Hazel busied themselves setting to rights their various possessions in the little cabin, and then they sat out in the wicker chairs in the after part of the craft, where Jack and Walter were. Paul seemed to find entertainment up in the bow with Cora.

“Where are the eats?” demanded Walter, when they had been under way for perhaps a half hour. “Didn’t I see you smuggling something on board, Bess?”

“Eats? Now?” cried Jack. “And if you saw Bess have anything it was a box of chocolates.”

“It was not, Jack Kimball!” retorted the pretty, plump twin. “I’ve given up chocolates.”

“For how long?” he teased.

“For ever. I’m eating lime drops and lemon drops now. Have some?”

“I knew I saw you have something,” declared Walter. “Why, they’re chocolates after all!” he went on, as he helped himself to what Bess offered.

“I know they are, but the chocolate coating is very thin,” she said. “They’re sour inside.”

“Sort of Christian Science treatment,” remarked Jack. “Bess couldn’t altogether give up her chocolate, so she takes it in homeopathic doses. Whew! they are sour!” he cried, as he bit into one of the candies, making a wry face.

“Fruit acids make one thin, I read,” Bess stated, “so I had these made to order.”

“Bess Robinson, you never did!” voiced her sister in surprised accents.

“Why shouldn’t I? They didn’t cost any more than the others. All the candy shop did was to dip their regular lime and lemon drops into chocolate for me.”

“Well!” exclaimed Belle. “Did you hear that, Cora?”

There was no reply from the girl at the wheel. She and Paul were busy talking.

“Let her alone,” urged Bess. “She knows about my candy. I told her.”

“Yes, don’t disturb ’em,” agreed Walter. “But I want something more substantial than candy. Didn’t you bring anything else, Bess?”

“Yes, we have a nice lunch, but I’m not going to have you spoil your appetite by eating now,” declared Belle.

“You don’t know how hard it is to spoil his appetite,” laughed Jack. “I’ve tried several times to find out just where the vanishing point is, but I haven’t succeeded. I’ve begun to believe that his appetite is like the poor—always with us—or him.”

“Base traitor!” retorted Walter, reaching out to punch Jack, but finding him too far away he did not exert himself.

The Chelton river was a busy place in the neighborhood of the town where our friends lived. On the way up the Corbelbes passed a number of craft, some of them slow-moving coal or grain barges, others passenger steamers, and not a few pleasure craft. Those in charge of the latter recognized the Corbelbes and saluted her with the regulation three whistles, which Cora returned.

“We couldn’t have had a better day,” remarked Paul, as he sat beside Cora.

“No, it’s perfect. If the weather only behaves when we get to camp we’ll be in all sorts of ways obliged to it.”

“Oh, I guess it will,” was the comment. “Look out for that fellow, Cora. He doesn’t seem to know which way he wants to go.”

“I’ve been noticing him,” and Cora looked at a man in a rowboat who was yawing from side to side as though unfamiliar with the proper method of navigation.

Cora blew the whistle sharply as the man seemed about to cross her bows, and this further confused him so that he was really in danger of being run down.

“Look out!” cried Paul again, instinctively, though he knew Cora knew how to manage the boat.

And she proved that she did by quickly reversing the propeller, while a series of sharp blasts informed any craft coming astern to look out for themselves.

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Paul, as the Corbelbes passed the man in the rowboat. “You ought to take lessons before you come out on the river.”

The man looked frightened but did not answer, pulling awkwardly away.

“What are you trying to do, Cora?” demanded Jack. “Have an accident before we’re fairly started? Better let me steer.”

“I will not, indeed! It wasn’t my fault!”

“I should say not!” cried Paul. “That fellow was a dub!”

That was the only near approach to a collision, though the river was unusually crowded that morning. In a little while, however, the water traffic thinned out, and Cora did not have to devote so much attention to the wheel.

“Say, isn’t it time for lunch now?” demanded Walter, insinuatingly.

“It’s only eleven,” announced Belle, with a look at her wrist watch.

“That’s his regular feeding time—at least he’ll say so,” put in Jack, before his chum had a chance to answer.

“I had an early breakfast,” put in Walter in extenuation.

“Oh, well, give the child something,” laughed Bess, “and let us have peace!”

Sandwiches, cake and other things were brought out, set on a table which unfolded from the side of the boat, and the merry chatter was soon interspersed with periods of silence to allow a chance to eat.

“We’ll get there in good season,” Cora was saying, when the engine gave a sudden combined cough, wheeze and sneeze, and stopped.

“No gasoline!” cried Walter.

“Indeed not!” answered Cora. “Both tanks are full.”

“Ground wire broken,” suggested Paul.

A hasty look at the conductors proved this theory to be wrong.

“Then it’s the carburetor,” Jack affirmed. “The worst possible place for trouble. I’ll look after it, Sis. I’ve had the dingus apart, and if anybody knows about its insides I do. Throw that anchor overboard, Wally, and I’ll tinker with the troublemaker.”

A small anchor splashed into the river, while Jack, putting on an old jumper and overalls, kept for such emergencies, took off the carburetor and proceeded to examine it, from cork float to butterfly valve.

“Must be poor gasoline they’re serving us lately,” he said. “It’s awfully dirty. Look!” and he held up his grimy hands.

“Have you found the trouble?” Cora asked.

“Yes, it was the air intake valve. Little speck of carbon in it prevented the proper mixture. I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

Jack proved the truth of his assertion by replacing the carburetor, and, a little later, by starting the engine without any trouble.

“Hurrah!” cried Paul. “That’s what it is to have a good mechanician aboard.”

“It’s a wonder you wouldn’t qualify yourself,” said Jack grimly. “Look at me! I’ll have to take a bath!” and he held up his hands, grimier than ever.

“There’s some of that mechanic’s soap—with pumice stone in it—in one of the lockers,” volunteered Cora. “Use that, Jack.”

The anchor was hauled in and the Corbelbes started up the river once more. Jack knelt down on one side of the stern deck, and, reaching down into the river, wet his hands, rubbing on them some pasty soap, guaranteed to remove grime of all kinds and leave most of the original skin.

“Where’s the camera?” asked Bess.

“What for?” demanded her sister.

“I want a view of Jack at his bath. Doesn’t he look cute?”

“Wait until I pose for you,” Jack suggested, making a lather of the soap. “I’m a dandy when it comes to poses. Just watch me.”

He stood up on the after deck, but his foot slipped on a bit of the lather that dropped from his hands, and, a moment later, Jack plunged overboard.

CHAPTER VIII—THE STORM

There was no need for any one else to go overboard, for Jack, as his boy and girl chums well knew, could swim excellently, and he had fallen in with only overalls and jumper on, which made raiment almost as light as a bathing suit. True, he had on his shoes, but in several tests at summer camp Jack had swum across a lake with all his heavy clothes on.

Still Paul was not sure but what his chum might have struck his head going overboard, and in this case it would be advisable to have the little boat ready.

“There he is—he’s all right,” cried Walter, as he saw Jack striking out for the motor boat, ignoring the life ring.

“Get it, Jack! Get it!” cried Cora, indicating the white, floating object.

“Don’t need it!” Jack sung out, cheerfully enough. “What do you think I am, an invalid?”

However, he was glad enough to crawl into the smaller boat, which Paul sent over toward him, for Jack found his shoes heavy, and the side of the Corbelbes was high out of water, making it difficult for one to reach the gunwale.

“All right?” asked Cora, as Jack sat dripping on the stern seat.

“Sure I’m all right. I was going in for a swim anyhow, and this saved me the trouble.”

“Well, come on board and we’ll start again,” Cora said. “Pick up the ring, Paul. I don’t want to lose it!”

“Aye, aye, my captainess!” and he saluted with an oar.

“How did it happen, Jack?” asked Walter, when his chum, dripping, was safe on board again.

“Somebody pushed me! I think it was Hazel,” and he winked at the others while he gazed as severely as possible (which was not greatly) at the blushing girl.

“Oh, Mr. Kimball! I—I did not!” cried Hazel.

“My goodness, how very formal! Mr. Kimball!” mocked Bess. “Since when, Hazel?”

“Since he accused me that way.”

“Oh! I’ll withdraw the accusation if you’ll only call me Jack! I love to hear you say that, Hazel! Call me Jack.”

“Silly!” muttered Cora.

“Mushy, I call it,” declared Bess. “Downright mushy!”

“You’re jealous,” added Walter.

“Say Jack!” commanded the dripping owner of the name, “or I’ll come over and sit by you, Hazel, and I’m almost sure that blue dress of yours spots.”

“It does! Oh, don’t let him come near me!” begged Hazel, trying to retreat into the cabin.

“Say Jack then!” commanded the relentless one, dripping at every step as he pursued her.

“Oh—Jack!” she complied.

“Your brains seem to have gone overboard, and not to have come back with you,” said Cora to her brother. “Quit your fooling. You’re getting the cushions all wet.”

Jack subsided after blowing a kiss to his sister, and sprinkling her with water from his dripping hair. Then the boat was put back on her course, the dingey was made fast, the life ring put in place, and there was peace and quietness once more, broken only by Jack’s grunts and exclamations as he struggled to get off his wet shoes.

“Cora,” called Jack, from the curtained cabin, where he was changing into dry garments, “I didn’t put an extra pair of shoes in your valise; did I?”

“I rather guess not,” was the quick answer.

“Then I haven’t any,” wailed Jack. “I’ll have to borrow a pair of you girls’ slippers. The biggest I can get—don’t all speak at once.”

There were some subdued giggles.

“Did I hear Cora say hers would be too big for me?” asked Jack.

“Oh, do get sensible!” commanded his sister. “There’s a pair of worsted bedroom slippers of mine you can take until your shoes get dry. You can’t stretch them any too much. Put your shoes near the muffler. They’ll dry there.”

“Yes, and get all out of shape,” objected Jack. “I’ll put them on the forward flag staff and let the gentle breezes dry them. ’Tis Nature’s way.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” groaned Cora. “What would people say on seeing a pair of shoes at the top of the staff? Please put them near the muffler and they’ll dry all right.”

This Jack did, the iron cylinder that received the burned gases from the engine being quite hot, so that the wet garments and shoes bid fair to dry speedily. Jack, meanwhile, donned a pair of his sister’s slippers—a pink one and a blue one, Cora not having been able to find mates.

“I don’t know what’s in him to-day,” Cora confided to Hazel.

“He’s awfully jolly, I think,” said Paul’s sister.

“Jolly? You wouldn’t think so if you had to live with him as long as I have had to.”

“Is he always this way?”

“No, thank goodness; it goes by streaks, like the lean and fat in a piece of bacon.”

“The idea of comparing Jack to a piece of bacon!” commented Bess, who overheard.

“Well, he is that way,” insisted Cora.

“I hope my shoes get dry by the time we reach Riverhead,” Jack confided to Paul and Walter. “I have another pair in my trunk, but that may not be there when we get to camp. And I do hate wet shoes to dance in.”

“Who said we were going to dance?” asked Walter.

“I did,” replied Jack. “There’s a hotel not far from the camp, I hear, and the season ought to be partly in swing now. Well, if you fellows don’t want to go I can borrow your shoes.”

“Who said we didn’t want to go?” Paul cried.

“Oh, well, don’t bite me!” pleaded Jack, in falsetto accents.

The little excitement caused by Jack’s involuntary bath gradually subsided. He made a final and fairly successful effort to rid his hands of the grime caused by cleaning the carburetor, and then, attired in dry garments, and with one pink and one blue slippered foot resting “nonchalantly” (as he called it) on the rail, he watched the receding, wooded shores of the Chelton.

From somewhere in the distance a factory whistle blew.

“One o’clock!” cried Jack. “Is dinner ready? I say, Cora, I have a wonderful appetite!”

“Never knew you when you didn’t have,” she replied.

“Why, we just had lunch—just before Jack fell overboard!” ejaculated Hazel.

“That won’t make a bit of difference to him—or them,” said Belle, with a resigned air. “We’ll have to serve another meal I suppose.”

“A regular one this time, if you please,” begged Walter. “Those olives, anchovies and the caviar sandwiches only made me a bit keen.”

The girls were nothing loath to put out the food again, for, truth to tell, the river air had given them, as well as the boys, an appetite. They had brought plenty with them, for though they had requested Mr. Floyd to have supper ready when they reached the bungalow (the first meal in camp the boys were to share with the girls), still Cora had feared they would arrive late, and had made arrangements accordingly.

They had as much fun over the regular lunch as they had had over the “temporary” one, as Walter and the boys designated the first meal, and the afternoon waned pleasantly.

“I hope we shall get to Riverhead before the storm,” observed Cora, as she came back to take her place at the wheel again, a post she had abandoned while she helped the girls put away the dishes and what was left of the food.

“What storm?” asked Paul.

Cora indicated a bank of sullen-looking clouds in the west. They were sufficiently ominous to cause Cora to speed up the motor a bit, and to request her brothers and his chums to see to the side curtains.

“We ought to get in long before that breaks,” Jack declared.

But he did not count on the speedy approach of the storm, nor on the fact that the boat ran into a shallow section of the river, where there grew long grass which got entangled in the propeller.

Though the Corbelbes managed to force her way through this patch of “seaweed” as Jack called it, when she emerged into free water again the motor could hardly turn the screw. It was necessary to reverse the engine, to unwind the grass, and even then some had to be pulled away with the boat hook—no easy task.

And then, when they were once more under full speed, the storm came down with a rush and a roar, with blinding sheets of rain, with a wind that caught the boat broadside, where the rubber curtains made a wide sail area, and heeled her over at no small angle.

With the rain came thunder and lightning, sufficiently fierce and loud for a time to terrify at least Belle, who was the most nervous of the girls.

“I can hardly see to steer,” said Cora, peering out of the rain-drenched windows of the cabin.

“Want me to take the wheel?” asked Jack.

“No, thank you, I think not. We ought to be almost there now. But I don’t know about going over the mountain trail in this storm.”

“Maybe it will stop,” suggested Belle.

“It doesn’t act so,” commented Walter.

The thunder had almost ceased, and the lightning was not so startling, but the rain came down harder than ever.

“I declare I can’t see either bank of the river,” Cora said. “I hope I shan’t run into anything.”

They kept on for perhaps an hour longer, the rain never ceasing. But they were good and dry in the snug motor boat.

“I think we’d better put ashore and find out where we are,” suggested Jack, after a bit. “We may have run past Riverhead, Cora.”

“Run past it! How could we, Jack? The river’s almost too shallow for a rowboat past Riverhead. We’d be aground.”

“Not necessarily. They’ve lately dredged a channel about a mile beyond, to let boats bring ice down from the houses up above. You may be in the channel,” Walter said.

“I don’t believe—” began Cora, when suddenly the boat ran against an obstruction. The occupants were almost thrown off their feet. A grinding, scraping sound was heard and Cora threw out the gears.

“Why—why!” she cried, as she looked out into the dark mist of the storm. “We’ve run ashore!”

CHAPTER IX—TIED UP

“We must be up to Riverhead all right,” remarked Bess. “Though I haven’t noticed anything like a town.”

“You couldn’t notice much of anything in this rain,” Cora said. “We’re not aground, at all events,” for they could feel the boat moving down stream under the influence of the current.

“Switch on the searchlight and see if we can discover where we are,” suggested Belle.

“Good idea,” commented Captain Cora. A push of a button and the small but powerful searchlight, mounted amidships on the cabin roof, gleamed out. It was operated by a storage battery, which, in turn, was charged by a small dynamo connected to the engine fly wheel. And by means of a worm gear, operated by a wheel near the steering apparatus, the light could be deflected in any direction.

Cora trained it on the bank. Looking through the rain-covered windows of the cabin the girls, and their boy guests, saw a water-soaked bank, covered with bushes and rushes. It was dusk now.

“That doesn’t look like Riverhead,” commented Jack.

“More like river-end,” said Paul. “Where in the world are we?”

“Don’t ask me!” exclaimed Cora, a trifle nervously. “I’m sure I did the best I could in the mist.”

“Of course you did, Sis,” said her brother soothingly. “It isn’t any one’s fault. We’re all right. The boat doesn’t seem to be damaged by trying to poke her pretty nose into the bank, and if we can’t go on to Camp Surprise in the darkness and rain we can go to some hotel and stay. There’s one in Riverhead.”

Just then, into the radiance of the searchlight stepped a man clad in yellow oilskins, rubber boots and with a sou’wester on his head.

“I’ll ask him,” said Jack. “He’ll tell us where we are.”

The individual—evidently a fisherman, as indicated by his unjointed pole and a basket—stopped in some surprise as he saw the big motor boat so close to shore, with lights gleaming and the powerful beams of the one on the cabin roof setting him out in bold relief in its glare.

“How far to Riverhead, if you please?” called Jack, sliding back one of the cabin windows.

“Riverhead?” cried the man, and surprise was plain in his voice. “Why, Riverhead’s over on the Chelton side, about ten miles from here.”

“On the Chelton side!” repeated Jack. “Isn’t this the Chelton?”

“No. This is Batter Creek,” the man explained. “The Chelton river branches off to the right, six miles down. You must have taken the left turn where Batter Creek runs into it. First you know you’ll be up in the swamp.”

“Good-night!” cried Jack, with a tragic gesture.

“On Batter Creek!” echoed Walter.

“Ten miles from Riverhead!” was Cora’s gasping remark.

“No wonder the poor boat ran ashore,” commented Bess. “She’d rather do that than get lost in a swamp.”

“So this is Batter Creek,” went on Jack. “I see how it happened. You steered over to the left at the junction, Cora, instead of following the right shore—I mean the right hand shore.”

“I suppose I must have,” Cora admitted. “But I couldn’t see in all that storm.”

“Of course not,” said Hazel, slipping her arm around Cora’s waist. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Certainly not,” added Walter and Paul in a duet.

“Jack, please shut the window,” begged Belle. “That is, if you have finished talking to that man. The damp wind will——”

“Take all the frizz out of your hair—I know!” Jack cut in. “All right. Much obliged to you, sir,” he continued.

“Don’t mention it,” replied the man of the yellow oilskins. “Quite a drizzle; isn’t it?”

“Regular Scotch mist!” chuckled Walter, in exaggerated Highland accents.

“I suppose we can get to Riverhead by turning around, following the left shore here until we come to the place where Batter Creek runs into the Chelton, and then go up the river?” suggested Jack, as he slowly slid the window shut.

“That’s right,” returned the fisherman. “But don’t go up this creek any further, or you’ll run aground in a swamp.”

“Thanks,” called Jack. “Oh, I say, are you going or coming?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean have you been fishing, or are you just going?”

“Just going. They always bite pretty well for me in a rain.”

“Oh. I thought maybe if you had any we’d buy ’em.”

“Sorry, but I haven’t anything but shiners for bait. I’m going down to the deep water.”

“What in the world did you want to buy fish for, Jack?” asked his sister as he closed the window, and the yellow figure splashed away.

“To eat,” was his answer. “We’ve got to have supper; haven’t we?”

“But can’t we go on to Riverhead, and then to the bungalow?” asked Bess.

“Hardly,” declared Jack. “It isn’t so late, of course. But this rain is going to keep up, if I’m any judge, and though we might manage to reach Riverhead, we certainly couldn’t undertake a ride over the mountain trail in an open buckboard in this downpour.”

“But what are we going to do?” cried Hazel, opening her eyes wide. She seemed in much distress.

“Do? Why, stay right here, my dear,” said Jack. “That is, if you will allow that poetic license—because ‘dear’ rhymes with ‘here.’”

“Oh,” murmured Hazel, blushing. “Stay here?”

“We have remained on board over night,” Cora remarked. “But we’ll be a bit crowded,” and she glanced appraisingly at Jack and his chums.

“Don’t worry about us, Sis,” he hastened to assure her. “We can bunk anywhere, or sit up. I don’t feel sleepy anyhow.”

“But we’ve got to eat,” said Walter. “Too bad that chap didn’t have any fish. We could have fried them on the gasoline stove.” The Corbelbes was fitted up with a little galley, the girls often having stayed on board for days at a time.

“Maybe we can catch some ourselves,” suggested Paul.

“No outfit or bait,” remarked Jack.

“A bent pin and a piece of string?” suggested Paul, but not with any degree of enthusiasm.

“Well, we’ve got to do something,” Cora declared. She had again set the engine in motion, but it was running only fast enough to overcome the sluggish current in the creek.

“Stay here,” urged Jack. “We know where we are now, but if we go down stream in the darkness we may fetch up at a place we don’t know.”

“You mean tie up here?” asked his sister.

“Sure. Cast the anchor, set the riding lights, make everything snug below and aloft, my captainess, and turn in. Set an anchor watch, heave the lead, and ’ware the lee shore and breakers ahead! Yo ho! My hearties! The stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow!” and Jack began howling an old sea-song at the top of his voice.

“Jack, be quiet!” insisted Cora. “You’ll arouse the neighborhood.”

“There aren’t any neighbors here,” he laughed. “The only one there was has gone fishing, and he doesn’t mind! Yo, he ho!”

“I guess to tie up is the best thing to do,” said Paul, and there was something in his manner that caused Cora to say:

“All right, Jack. Drop the anchor, and we’ll stay here for the night.”

“And then see about something to eat,” suggested Walter.

Jack made a dash outside, shoved over the anchor, took a turn of the cable about a deck cleat and came back into the cabin. The Corbelbes was tied up for the night.

CHAPTER X—A NIGHT RIDE

“You’d better,” Cora said, laughing in spite of herself. “Now that we are here——”

“She said that before,” whispered Jack, but his sister took no notice, going on with:

“We must see about something to eat. We have enough for supper, but breakfast will be another matter. I’d like to get some bacon and eggs. That, with coffee, will make a good morning meal.”

“And what, if I may be so bold as to ask,” came from Bess, “is to be the menu for this evening.”

“We’ll have a look,” suggested Cora. Attached to the small galley, in which was a gasoline stove, was a sort of cupboard. An inspection of this did not reveal as much as Cora had hoped for.

“There isn’t a great deal left; is there?” she said.

“I should say not!” cried Jack, peering over his sister’s shoulder. “Fellows, we’ve got to rustle for the grub! Don’t all speak at once. Listen to that!” and he signaled for silence, which, when it came, enabled them all to hear the swish and patter of the raindrops on the roof.

“I’ll go,” offered Walter. “I’m hungrier than any of you, I guess, and I have a pair of rubbers in my valise.”

“Regular fireman you are,” commented Jack. “Why didn’t you bring rubber boots?”

“And I see Cora has an umbrella,” Walter went on, ignoring Jack’s sarcasm. “I’ll go out in the rain, and——”

“Give a correct imitation of a duck doing its Christmas shopping!” gibed Jack. “Wally, you’re all right!”

“If you had some of his public spirit we’d all be better off,” said Cora.

“Oh, don’t um be mad at um’s ‘ittle bruver!” mocked Jack.

“Oh, quit it!” begged his sister.

“Where can you get anything to eat around here?” asked Paul.

“I don’t know, but I can forage for it. The presence of that fisherman clearly proves that this is an inhabited land, and where there are inhabitants there must be food. I may find a country store, or, if I can’t find that, I’ll find a house, describe our plight in such moving words as I am able to command, and buy what they’ll sell.”

“I’d like a cup of tea,” murmured Belle. “My nerves——”

“Are nothing to what they’ll be when the ghosts of Camp Surprise begin to make the stairs stand on their head,” broke in Jack.

“We have tea,” Cora said. “I’ll put the kettle on at once. It seems a pity to have you go out in this storm, though, Walter.”

“I don’t mind a bit. I’m glad to do it.”

“He’ll say anything as long as there are ladies present,” declared Jack. “But wait until you’re gone. He’ll say you drove him to it.”

Walter paid no attention to his tormenting chum, but began talking to Cora as to what best he had better try to get in the way of food, provided he could find a store or a house where some might be obtained.

And then, having donned his rubbers, and taking Cora’s umbrella, Walter set off on his quest. It was still raining hard, but the thunder and lightning had ceased some time since.

While he was gone the others began their preparations for spending the night on board. The girls would occupy the main cabin, where there were four berths. The after part of the boat had been enclosed in heavy curtains when the rain set in, and here the boys could sleep on the locker cushions spread on the floor. They had done it on one or two other occasions.

There were a few blankets, besides those for the bunks, but the boys said they would not need many coverings, as the night was warm.

Cora put the kettle on the gasoline stove, and as soon as it boiled, tea was made. There was condensed milk in the larder, and sugar for those who wished it, though Bess bewailed the lack of lemon, for she wanted to “reduce” she said, and some one had told her lemon juice in tea was helpful.

Cora was setting out what remained of the sandwiches and cake, and Jack was eyeing, rather dubiously, the apology for a meal, when they heard a hail:

“Corbelbes ahoy!”

“That’s Walter!” declared Paul.

“And may he come well-laden!” ejaculated Jack.

“You poor boy!” exclaimed Cora, sympathetically, as Walter came dripping into the after cabin. “Are you soaked?”

“Not quite so bad as that,” he answered, laying down some brown-paper-wrapped bundles.

“Never mind how he is, what about the eats?” asked Jack.

“You are heartless,” said Hazel, and then she wished she had not spoken, for Jack flashed a look at her, and whispered:

“Can you blame me for being heart-less where you are?”

“Oh, oh!” she murmured.

“Found a store about half a mile down the—well, I wouldn’t call it a road,” and Walter looked at his mud-splashed feet. “Say, rather, down the swamp. Found a store there, and I got a few things.”

“I should say you did!” exclaimed Bess, who, with Belle, had opened the packages. “This will be fine,” for Walter had purchased jellies, jams, some tinned meat, bacon, eggs and enough canned food, together with some rather doubtful oranges, to make a substantial meal.

“That looks good to me!” declared Jack, while Walter divested himself of his rubbers, and put the umbrella where it would not flood the cabin.

“Oh, and even olives!” gasped Hazel.

“Olives for Olivia,” crooned Walter. “Say, Jack, s’pose those overalls you went bathing in would be dry enough for me?”

“Sure! Try ’em on. You’ll look sweet in ’em.”

“I don’t care whether I look sweet as long as I feel dry,” retorted Walter.

And while the girls prepared the supper, he changed to the garments Jack had used, they having dried sufficiently.

With the hot tea, and with what Walter had foraged for, a really good meal was made. The young people were hungry, and their appetites made up for any lack in the nicety of the food.

“It was a regular country store,” Walter explained, “but they had some good things.”

“And now we have ’em,” murmured Jack, tipping back on his stool contentedly.

It was still early, for the storm had brought darkness ahead of time, and, unwilling to retire so soon with no very good prospects of sleeping, the boys and girls sat up and talked.

“I wonder what Mr. and Mrs. Floyd will think, when we fail to arrive on time,” remarked Cora. “I hope they don’t send telegrams home, telling the folks we have turned up missing.”

“I don’t believe they will,” argued Jack. “They’ll know the storm delayed us. And in the morning we can send telegrams ourselves, notifying our folks that we’re all right, any reports to the contrary notwithstanding.”

The girls passed a fairly comfortable, and the boys a rather uncomfortable night, but it could not, as Jack said, last forever, and a bright morning sun made them all forget the discomforts.

Hot coffee, bacon and eggs, that were fresher, Cora said, than the high-priced ones at home, made them all look at the day’s prospect with genial spirits.

“And now we’ll make another attempt to get to Camp Surprise,” said Cora, as the anchor was hauled up and the engine set in motion.

“I’m surprised that we didn’t get there before,” Jack said.

“Oh, what a miserable pun!” groaned Walter.

Good time was made to the junction where Batter Creek flowed into the Chelton river. It was not much of a junction and the creek was so unimportant a stream that Cora and her friends had never thought of going up it.

“But this time we did it in spite of ourselves,” said Bess.

“It was only because of the mist and darkness that I made the wrong turn,” declared Cora.

They stopped long enough to send reassuring telegrams home, and also one to Mr. and Mrs. Floyd, explaining the delay.

Again they were on their way up the Chelton river, and for a time all seemed to go well. But four miles from their destination, engine trouble developed, and when the cause of it was discovered, it proved to be a break that needed the attention of a machinist.

“We could leave the boat here and go on,” Cora said, “but we have made arrangements to have it taken care of at Riverhead, and the man I have engaged won’t know what to think if we don’t come.”

“Oh, let’s wait here until it’s fixed,” suggested Belle. “We want to arrive in style. It won’t take long, and to go on we’d have either to hire another boat or go by wagon.”

“All right,” Cora agreed.

The repairs took longer than they anticipated, and it was not until late afternoon that they were able to go on. This time they arrived safely at Riverhead, shortly before dusk, which was the time they should have been there the previous evening.

The man who was to dock the Corbelbes was on hand and took charge of the craft. He also directed the party to the big waiting buckboard, in charge of a driver, that had been sent by Mr. Floyd to meet the girls and boys.

“You’re a little late,” said the man. “Not that I mind, but we’ll have to make a night drive of it.”

“We don’t care,” Cora said, “as long as the roads are safe.”

“Oh, they’re safe enough.”

“What about supper?” asked Jack.

“Mrs. Floyd said she’d have it ready for you,” the driver stated.

“I’ve got some sandwiches and a box of candy,” observed Bess.

“Then we won’t starve,” said Jack.

“May blessing be upon thy head!” intoned Walter.

The driver looked at them in a queer sort of way, as though he did not know altogether how to take them, and he was heard to murmur something about “queer city folks.”

The valises and other belongings they had brought along on the motor boat were put in the big wagon, the driver climbed to his seat, and, with the shadows of night falling, they set off up the mountain for Camp Surprise.

“Some buckboard this!” remarked Jack, as he surveyed the vehicle.

“It sure is,” responded Walter. “The largest buckboard I ever saw.”