“We’re doing very little work, sir,” Dave answered.  “We could make the canoe go faster than this, but it would hardly do to run ahead of our guests.”

In truth the canoe slipped rapidly through the water with the expenditure of only a moderate amount of energy on the part of Dick & Co.

In a few minutes the lake had been crossed.  A point was found at which the launch could be backed in.  By this time the boys were on shore, their canoe hauled up, and they stood ready to help their guests ashore.

“We’ve landed a little below the camp,” said Dick, “but it won’t take us more than a minute to walk there.  After we’ve taken you into the camp we’ll return for the garden truck.”

Gr-r-r-r-r! came a warning sound through the bushes.

“Towser!” spoke Harry Hazelton sharply.  “I’m ashamed of you!”

“You ought to be!” came the answer in another voice, and a surly one, at that.

“Fred Ripley?” muttered Dick.  “What on earth can he be doing here?”

Unconsciously all of the picnickers hastened their steps.  Then they came upon a truly ludicrous sight.

Fred lay where he had been lying ever since ten o’clock that morning.  He was coatless, stretched out face downward, with Towser still camped across his shoulder, and the dog’s teeth still fastened in his shirt.

“Come and call this measly dog off!” ordered Fred, in a surly tone.  “This is a fine reward that I get for trying to do you fellows a friendly turn!”

Dick, Dave and Tom were the first to get within range and obtain a glimpse of the extraordinary scene.  They halted, gasping, though their glances swiftly took in the whole affair.  They comprehended what Ripley had been doing, and how the dog had come upon the marauder.

By this time the other members of the party came in sight.  Fred still lay on the ground, scowling and fuming over his undignified position, while Towser still kept an eye open for business.

“Call this dog off!” Fred ordered again.

“How did the dog happen to catch you here?” Dick asked quietly.

“Call this dog off and I’ll tell you,” snapped Fred.  “I was trying to do you fellows a good turn, but the dog had to interfere and get hold of the wrong party.”

“You were trying to do us a good turn?” gasped Dick wonderingly.

“Yes—–­but it will be the last time, unless you call this dog off,” snarled young Ripley.

Perhaps it is hardly necessary to say that not one in the party believed Fred’s extraordinary story.

“Hazelton, get this dog of yours away, or I’ll go to court and secure an order to have the beast shot!” snapped young Ripley.

But at this moment another voice was heard calling from the roadway: 

“Fred!  Fred!  Are you there?”

It was Squire Ripley’s voice, though the lawyer himself could not be seen as yet.

“Yes, sir; your son is here,” Dick answered.  “Come and see just how he is here!”