As luck would have it, Bob and Tom were camp-boys the next morning, and, as their duties required the better part of an hour in the performance, it was after nine o’clock before they were able to join Dan and Nelson at the landing. The canoe held Dan, Nelson, and the bundles, and Bob and Tom followed in one of the rowboats. Their embarkation was watched by several of the fellows, whose suspicions were aroused, and questions were hurled after them as long as they were within hearing. As they passed the landing at Wickasaw three boys who were making fast the launch after returning from the village with the mail stopped work and observed them with meaning grins.

“Hello, Chicks!” one called. “Been over to the bluff lately?”

“Hello, Wicks,” Dan replied; “you’re all the ‘bluffs’ we’ve seen.”

“You’ll be lu-lu-lu-laughing out of th-th-the other side of your mu-mu-mouths pretty su-su-soon!” muttered Tom.

At the village they divided the bundles and started down the road toward Hipp’s Pond; but presently they turned to the left and began the ascent of the mountain, keeping along the side nearest the village. It was tough going, and twice Tom put down his load and suggested that they pause and have a look at the view.

“The view’s perfectly swell, Tom,” answered Nelson, “but as it’s getting late you want to forget about it and toddle along.”

So Tom, with many a sigh and grunt, toddled.

Ten minutes later they had reached their destination. Behind them rose the thickly timbered slope of the mountain, and at their feet was the bluff. Even Nelson found time now for a look at the panorama of blue sunlit lake spread below them. The camp landing was hidden from them by the trees, but the upper end of the lake was in plain sight, each island standing out distinct against the expanse of breeze-ruffled water. Below them at a little distance a column of smoke rising from the trees told of the location of Camp Trescott. Beyond was Joy’s Cove, and, to its left, Black’s Neck. Chicora Inn looked very near across the lake. Far away a shimmer of blue indicated Little Chicora. It was a beautiful scene, and the boys, their hats thrown aside, gazed their fill while the breeze ruffled their damp hair. Then Dan started to work.

The bundles were undone and their contents laid out on the narrow bit of turf between the trees and the edge of the cliff; two lengths of rope, a gallon can of blue paint, a ball of stout twine, a piece of steel wire bent into a double hook, and an oak board sixteen inches long and six inches wide, notched on each side near the ends. When they were all displayed Dan looked them over as a general might view his troops. Suddenly he struck his right fist into his left palm with a loud smack:

“Oh, thunderation!” he exclaimed.

“What’s the row?” asked Bob.

“We left the paint-brush down there!”

Sorrowfully they walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down into the meadow.

“Somebody’ll have to go and get it,” said Nelson.

“Where’d you leave it?”

“You couldn’t find it in a week,” answered Dan in vexation. “Here, let’s get these things rigged up. It would take half an hour to go down there and back the way we came. You can let me down with the rope and I’ll find it.”

So they set to work. The board was lashed firmly to one end of an inch rope, the can of paint was opened, one end of the other length of rope was tied into a noose, and the hook was passed through the rope at the end of the swing.

“That looks like awfully small rope,” said Tom.

“But it hasn’t got to hold you, my boy,” said Dan. “Pass the end of it around that tree, fellows. That’s it. Now let’s see where to put it over.” He sank onto his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bluff. “Here’s a good place,” he said, and dropped the swing over the edge. “Now haul up the slack, Bob.”

“Look here,” said Nelson, “it will be easy enough letting you down, but are you sure we can pull you up again?”

“Well, if you can’t – !” Dan’s tones spoke volumes of contempt. “But you’ll have to unwind the rope from that tree, you know, and pull on it directly.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer if we left it snubbed around the tree and pulled on it here at the edge, letting some one take up the slack at the tree?”

“Yes, if two of you can lift me.”

“We can, if we don’t have to bear the strain between hauls.”

“That’s proper,” said Dan. “But say, how about having the rope work over the edge of the turf here?”

“Won’t do,” answered Bob. “It would cut into the turf and scrape on the edge of the rock. We ought to have a plank or something.”

“That old log over there will do all right,” said Nelson. “Fetch it over, Tom.”

Tom obeyed, grunting, and the dead trunk was laid at the edge of the cliff.

“What’s going to keep it from rolling over onto your head?” asked Tom of Dan.

Dan looked puzzled. So did the others.

“Seems to me,” said Nelson, “we didn’t get this more’n half planned out.”

“History teaches us,” said Dan, “that even the world’s greatest generals have been quite frequently ‘up a tree.’”

“Wonder if they were ever up a bluff?” murmured Tom.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Dan, after a moment’s consideration of the problem, “we’ll have to drive stakes on each side of the log; see?”

“Yes,” Bob answered dryly, “but I don’t see the stakes.”

“That’s easy. Who’s got the biggest knife?”

It appeared that Tom had; so Dan borrowed it, and set to work cutting down a stout branch and converting it into four stakes some eighteen inches in length. It took a good while, and the other three fellows disposed themselves comfortably on the ground and looked on.

“Wish those Wickasaws had broken their silly necks!” grumbled Nelson. “We’re going to miss our soak.”

“Maybe we’ll miss our dinner, too,” said Tom.

“Oh, cut it out!” said Bob. “You can eat to-morrow. I don’t see what you want to eat for, anyhow, fat as you are.”

At last the stakes were done and were driven into the turf at each side of the log, Tom mashing his finger with the rock which he was using as a hammer. Then Bob and Tom and Nelson manned the rope, and Dan wriggled over the edge of the cliff, feet foremost, keeping a tight hold on the rope. When only his head remained in sight he winked merrily.

“If I make a mess of it, fellows, kindly see that you find all the pieces,” he called. “And don’t forget to put on my headstone ‘Requiescat in pieces.’”

Then the flaming red head disappeared, and the fellows let the rope slip slowly around the tree. It seemed a long while before it slackened. When Bob got to the edge Dan was scrambling over the rocks into the bushes. Presently he was back flourishing the brush and can.

“We don’t need to pull you all the way up again,” shouted Bob. “We’ll get you up where you are going to paint and then lower the can down to you. Is that all right?”

“All right,” echoed Dan. Then he stepped onto the seat at the end of the rope and waved his hand. Bob and Nelson laid back on the rope, and slowly it began to come up over the log, Tom securing the slack after each haul with a double turn around the tree. Finally there came a shout, and, after a glance over the edge, Bob directed them to make fast, and tied the twine to the can of blue paint and lowered it. Suddenly there was a yell of dismay and wrath from below.

“See what’s wrong!” cried Bob.

Nelson crawled to the edge and peered over. Then he crawled back, and seemed to be having a fit on the turf. Tom looked down, and then joined Nelson.

Bob stared at them as though they had suddenly gone insane. “What’s the matter, you idiots?” he cried. But Tom only shrieked the louder, while Nelson rolled onto his back, held his sides, and kicked his heels into the turf, gasping. In disgust Bob got cautiously to his knees, tied the line around a stake, and had a look for himself. Thirty feet beneath sat Dan on his wooden seat, muttering incoherently under a baptism of bright blue paint. The can had caught on the edge of a tiny projecting ledge and had tilted in such a way that a portion of the contents had slopped over onto Dan’s bare head, and even yet was still trickling a tiny stream. At first glance, so thoroughly was Dan’s head and face adorned, it seemed to Bob that the entire contents of the can must have been emptied. But a second glance showed him that at least three-fourths of the paint still remained at the end of the cord. He swung it away so that it no longer dripped, and hailed Dan.

“What’s the good of wasting the stuff like that, Dan?” he asked with simulated anger.

Dan raised a strange blue visage from which his eyes peeped coyly upward. “If you’ll haul me up I’ll lick you within an inch of your life!” he said solemnly. Then he spat and sputtered and tried to wipe the sticky fluid from his face with his arm, his hands being already well covered.

Tom and Nelson, who had managed to creep to the edge for another look, here retired precipitately so that they might indulge their mirth where there was no danger of laughing themselves over the edge.

“Too bad, Dan,” laughed Bob. “Haven’t you got a handkerchief?”

“Handkerchief!” said Dan scornfully. “What good would that be? What I need is a Turkish bath and a dozen towels. Say, did you do that on purpose, you – you blamed fool?”

“No, honest, Dan, I didn’t. I didn’t know what was up, until Nelson was taken with a fit.”

“Fit! I’ll fit him!” said Dan with a grin. “How do I look?”

“Like New Haven after a football victory!”

“Huh! Well, let’s have that stuff and get this fool job done!”

“Sure you don’t want to come up and clean off a bit?”

“I’m not coming up until the thing’s done, I tell you. Lower away on that paint, only for goodness’ sake be careful!”

“Of course I will! What’s the saying about gilding refined gold and painting the lily, Dan? There’s no use wasting any more of this precious stuff on you; you’re complete now. I couldn’t add to your beauty if I had gallons and gallons here!”

“Shut up!” said Dan cheerfully; “and tell those two other idiots that if they don’t stop laughing I’ll go up there and paint ’em from head to feet!”

Here Tom looked over.

“Su-su-say, Dan,” he shouted, “di-di-didn’t you mean ‘Re-re-requiescat in pu-pu-pu-paint’?”

“Shut up, Tom,” gurgled Nelson, thrusting his blushing countenance over the edge. “Can’t you see he has enough already to make him blue?”

But Dan made no answer. He was tracing a monstrous C on the face of the cliff with a dripping brush.

“Don’t be too generous with that paint,” cautioned Bob. “Remember, there isn’t very much left.”

“Guess I know that, don’t I?” asked Dan.

An A and an M followed the C, and then it was necessary to move the artist along. Nelson had solved the difficulty after a fashion the preceding afternoon. The second rope was made fast to a tree at the top and lowered down to Dan. He put his foot in the noose and swung free of the seat, keeping hold, however, of the rope above it. Then this was moved at the top and made fast anew. Dan stepped back on the seat, released the rope with the noose, and went swinging across the face of the rock like a pendulum. The watchers held their breaths, but Dan clung fast, and presently the swing came to a stop and the painting was resumed. Four times more was this process gone through with to the risking of Dan’s limbs before the last numeral of “’04” was completed. Then Dan heaved a sigh of relief, viewed his work approvingly, and trickled what remained of the paint down the face of the rock in a partly successful endeavor to obliterate the red lettering below.

“How does it look?” asked Nelson eagerly.

“Swell,” said Dan. “Pull me up.”

They obeyed, and when he crawled over the edge and stood up they all sat down and howled anew. And Dan, just to be sociable, sat down and laughed at his plight until the tears came.

“Oh, Dan, if we could only keep you just as you are!” gasped Nelson, “and use you for a mascot!”

Head and face were as blue as though he had dipped them in the paint-can; his hands and arms were a lighter shade; the stuff had trickled down behind one ear and so down his back, and his jersey was patriotic to a fault.

“What shall I do?” he asked finally. “I can’t go back like this.”

“We’ll land you just across from the village,” said Nelson, “and you can sneak back to camp through the woods. No one will see you, because the crowd will be having soak. Get a lot of kerosene and take a bath in it.”

The plan was the best they could think of, and so it was carried out. The ropes and the rest of the paraphernalia they hid in the woods, and then they got down the hill as fast as their legs would carry them. Going through the village, Dan created quite a little interest, although he modestly strove to avoid notice. They put him ashore a quarter of a mile from camp, and when last seen he was stalking through the trees like an Indian in war-paint. The others got back to the landing in time to hurry into their bathing-trunks and get a few plunges before the signal “All out!” was given. They were very reticent as to what they had been doing, but somehow the secret was all over camp by dinner-time, and the fellows spent the most of the afternoon rowing to and fro across the lake to the point of Black’s Neck, from where an excellent view of the cliff was obtainable. And what they saw pleased them immeasurably. Dan had fairly beaten the Wickasaws at their own game. He had painted his legend in letters fully three feet high at least fifteen feet above theirs, and there could be no comparison either in artistic effect or publicity. Camp Chicora hugged itself in gleeful triumph.

Just before supper Dan ran across Mr. Verder.

“Why, Speede,” asked the latter, stopping him, “aren’t you feeling well?”

“Me, sir? Oh, I’m all right,” answered Dan uneasily, eager to pass on.

“Sure?” asked the councilor. “You look – er – kind of blue and unhealthy.” And Dan thought he heard a chuckle as he hurried away.

CHAPTER VIII
TELLS HOW TOM WAS VISITED BY AUNT LOUISA – AND SOME OTHERS

Saturdays at Chicora were by way of being fête-days. Relatives and friends were given the freedom of the camp, and the visitors’ table in the dining-hall was usually full. Frequently the father of one of the boys stayed over until Monday morning, sleeping in one of the dormitories and getting a genuine taste of camp life. On the day following the adventure at the cliff the visitors began to reach camp early, and among the first to put in an appearance was Tom’s Aunt Louisa, from Boston. Her arrival was so unexpected, and Tom became so excited over it, that he started at the landing to tell her how glad to see her he was and only finished at the flag-pole, having been set back twice in his stuttering by stubbing his toe on the way up. With parents and friends appeared simultaneously baskets and boxes of fruit, candy, and cake. Sunday morning found many absent from the breakfast table, and Dr. Smith made the rounds of the dormitories with what he called his “Sunday Specific.” But Aunt Louisa wasn’t the sort to bring trouble to a boy’s digestion; she said so herself in the presence of Nelson and Dan and Bob and Tom, the first three having been formally introduced by Tom as “my special friends.”

“I don’t believe in candy, Tom,” said Aunt Louisa, “and you know it. So don’t expect any. You’re looking so well, my dear, that I wouldn’t think of bringing you anything that might upset you. I did consider fruit, but I’m always afraid of fruit; in hot weather – aren’t you, sir?”

Dan, finding the question put to him, answered with alacrity.

“Yes’m,” said Dan soberly.

“Yes, that’s what I think,” continued Aunt Louisa. “And so I said to myself, ‘If it must be something sweet’ – for Tom’s got the sweetest tooth of any boy I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a good many in my time – ‘if it must be something sweet,’ I said, ‘why, it will be something healthful.’ And so, Tom, I’ve brought you two of those lemon pies and a dozen cream-puffs from that nice store on Temple Place. There’s nothing about a good honest pie can hurt any one – is there?”

“No, indeed,” answered Dan with enthusiasm. Tom murmured his thanks, but withal looked a trifle dissatisfied. Aunt Louisa saw it.

“I do believe he’s disappointed at not getting candy!” she said.

“No, really, aunt,” Tom answered, striving to put conviction into his tones. “I’m awfully fond of cream-puffs – and pie.”

But Aunt Louisa shook her head, unconvinced. “I’m afraid you are, though,” she said. “I kind of felt you would be. That’s why I said to myself, ‘Now, there’s mighty little use in being in good health if you’re unhappy. If the boy’s going to get more enjoyment out of having a stomach-ache than by not having one, why, he shall have it. Boys aren’t real happy, anyhow,’ I said to myself, ‘unless they’re in trouble, and I guess a stomach-ache’s about as harmless a trouble as he could have.’ And so I just went down to Sage & Paw’s and – ”

“Hooray for you, Aunt Louisa!” shouted Tom. “What d’you get?”

“Mixed chocolates,” said Aunt Louisa, her eyes dancing, adding grimly, “I guess they’ll do the work as quick as anything!”

Candy never tastes so good as when a chap has been subsisting on what the school catalogues call “a plain, wholesome diet with a sufficiency of pure milk and butter and fresh eggs.” The box, a generous four-pound affair, was quickly obtained, and the five – Aunt Louisa reminding one of a valuable transport under the protection of four men-o’-war – sought a quiet spot in the forest above the clearing where they, or at least four of them, could do the matter full justice. Aunt Louisa sat on a fallen tree, with her neat gray traveling-gown well tucked up around her, and encouraged them to eat all they could.

“You might just as well have it over with,” she declared. “You’re all bound to be ill, and the sooner you’re ill the sooner you’ll be well again. Mr. Hurry, you mustn’t let Tom get ahead of you.”

“Dan’s name’s Speede, auntie,” corrected Tom.

“Speede, is it? Well, he’s real slow compared to you, Tom, when it comes to candy.”

They unanimously voted Aunt Louisa a “brick,” and hospitably pressed her to come again. And in the afternoon, when the camp turned out in a body and traveled to the ball field for the first game of the season, Aunt Louisa was escorted in state. The box of candy didn’t go along however; they had lost the edge of their appetite. So Tom bore the depleted box to Maple Hall, and, because his locker no longer locked, and because the sign artistically done on the door with a hot poker, which sign surrounded a grinning skull and cross-bones and read, “Danger! Keep Out!” had no meaning for the other occupants of the hall, he secreted it at the head of his bunk under the mattress.

Chicora’s adversary that day was Camp Trescott. Trescott was situated directly across the lake in Joy’s Cove. It was a small camp, and the dozen and a half fellows inhabiting it were all from one school. Trescott rather prided itself on being select. But select or not, it wasn’t much at baseball, and Chicora had little difficulty in winning as she pleased. But despite a very one-sided score – 17 to 3 – there were some good plays, and the spectators were well repaid for their half-mile walk through the woods. Bob found plenty of things that needed remedying, but on the whole the Chicora team played very well for a first game.

There was quite a gallery of spectators at the evening plunge, and Dan excelled himself at diving, bringing forth screams of terrified protest from Aunt Louisa, who “just knew that Mr. Hurry would drown himself, if he didn’t break his neck first!” Even Nelson, who of late had been profiting by Dan’s instruction, did some very respectable stunts in the line of what Tom called “high and lofty tumbling.” Aunt Louisa, together with nearly a dozen other guests, stayed to supper and camp-fire, being taken back to Chicora Inn at nine in the steam-launch. A dozen or so of the boys went along with the guests, the Four among them. There was a jolly big white moon that made a wide sparkling path across the water, and there was a nice nippy little breeze from the east that rendered the seats about the boiler very popular. Mr. Clinton ran the launch, and coming back he made no protest when Bob, who was at the wheel, turned the head of the Chicora across the lake and hugged the opposite shore all the way back, explaining sotto voce to Nelson that “the longest way around was the shortest way home.”

It was after ten when they finally made the landing, and nearly half past when, having helped the Chief make fast the boat for the night and partaken of a lunch of milk and crackers in the dining-hall, the Four tumbled into bed and put out their lanterns. And it was just about midnight when a heartrending shriek broke out on the stillness and brought every fellow into a sitting position in his bunk with visions of murder. In the momentary silence ensuing there was a loud thump of a body striking the floor, the building shook on its foundations, and Mr. Verder’s alarmed voice rang out:

“What’s the matter? Who yelled, fellows?”

“Wha-wha-wha-what’s the mu-mu-mu-matter?” shrieked a voice midway down the hall. “I du-du-dunno what’s the mu-mu-mu – what’s the mu-mu-mu-matter! I only know I’m bu-bu-bu-being eat-tu-tu-eaten alive!”

A howl of laughter rewarded the explanation, and lanterns were quickly lighted. Dan was one of the first on the scene. Tom, his blankets scattered around him, stood in his pajamas with staring eyes and busy hands. First he rubbed and slapped one part of his body, then another, and all the time he kept up an indignant stuttering.

“Tu-tu-talk about pu-pu-pu-pins an’ nu-nu-needles! Gu-gu-gee! Su-su-somebody’s put a whole pu-pu-pu-package of ’em in mu-mu-my bed!”

“Shut up your howling,” said Dan with a grin. “What’s the fun?”

“Fu-fu-fun!” yelled Tom. “I wish you had it!”

“Had what?”

“Wha-wha-whatever it is, you bu-bu-bu-blamed idiot!” answered Tom wrathfully. Then, with a sudden shriek, he leaped a foot into the air, grabbed his pajamas above his left knee, and danced nimbly about the floor, at last becoming entangled in the blankets and tumbling headlong at the feet of Mr. Verder, who came hurrying up. Every fellow was on hand by that time, and Tom was pulled sputtering to his feet. Mr. Verder took the nearest lantern and investigated. The cause of Tom’s unhappiness wasn’t far to seek. Over the bed and blankets swarmed a veritable army of big black ants!

“Ants!” said Mr. Verder, laughing. “What are you doing, Ferris, studying entomology?”

“Probably antomology,” hazarded Nelson.

“Ants?” exclaimed Tom, still rubbing himself busily. “Ants! Gee, I thought they were bu-bu-bu-bees at least! They haven’t done a th-th-th-thing tu-tu-tu-to me, sir!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Ferris,” said the councilor. “The Doctor will get you something to put on the bites. But what are they doing on your bed?”

“I gu-gu-guess it’s the cu-cu-cu-candy, sir,” said Tom sheepishly.

“Candy? What candy?”

For answer Tom raised the mattress, revealing a box about which the ants were crawling excitedly to and fro.

“Well,” said Mr. Verder when the laughter had somewhat subsided, “after this you had better keep your candy somewhere else.”

For answer Tom seized the box gingerly and hurled it out the nearest window. Dr. Smith appeared with a bottle of witch-hazel, and Tom, dispensing with his pajamas, received medical assistance. After that order and quiet were restored only with much difficulty. Tom went elsewhere to continue his interrupted slumber, hugging the bottle of witch-hazel to his breast, but he couldn’t get beyond the gibes of his companions. They sat on the edge of his new bunk and pointed out the moral to him, which, according to them, was to the effect that selfishness had been justly rewarded. And Tom, rubbing and grimacing, had no spirit left with which to defend himself.

“It proves,” declared Dan, “that a fellow can have too many ants!”

Tom only groaned, whether at the pun or at his pain they didn’t know.