tale if told.  At Camden the two cruisers lay side by side, with just enough room between to allow them to swing, and by keeping the tenders alongside the gangways it was only a momentary task to ferry from one boat to the other.  In consequence the two crews mingled a good deal and it was no unusual thing for one breakfast table to be thronged while the other was half empty of a morning.  When the boys got tired of swimming they simply climbed over the rail of the nearer craft and, after partly drying themselves, went down to breakfast.  As getting dry was a somewhat perfunctory proceeding, the linoleum in the forward cabin was covered with pools of salt water by the time the last platter of bacon and eggs was empty.

Many friends were made and the boys spent more time on shore than aboard.  There was tennis to be played, for one thing, and Phil, Steve and Joe were all dabsters at that game.  And then there was a big, freckle-faced youth named Globbins who spent most of his waking hours in the driver’s seat of a high-powered roadster automobile and who ran the fellows many miles over the roads and was never, seemingly, more contented than when every available inch of the car was occupied.  Its normal capacity was three, but by careful packing it was possible to get seven in, on or about it.  In return, Globbins was entertained aboard the Adventurer and given a thirty-mile cruise one evening, but it was easy to see that he wasn’t really enjoying himself and that his hands fairly ached for the feel of that corrugated wheel of the roadster.  They had such a jolly time at Camden that they promised faithfully to stop there again on the return voyage, and really meant to keep the promise when they chugged out of the harbour one crisp morning and turned the cruisers’ bows eastward for the run across Penobscot Bay.

They lazed that day, for, as Steve said, it was too fine to hurry.  Dinner was eaten with the two boats side by side, with only fenders between, in a fairy pool.  They found the place quite by accident when exploring the shore of an island whose name they are to this day ignorant of.  There was an entrance to the tiny bay through which a schooner might barely have scraped her way.  Beyond the mouth lay a wonder land.  The pool was as round as a dish and its water the bluest they had ever seen.  Straight across from the entrance a cliff of granite towered for a hundred feet or more, its tree-clad summit almost leaning over the boats at anchor.  Its face was clothed with vines and dwarf evergreens and birches.  On the other encircling shores of the pool tumbled boulders hung over the blue depths and were reflected so clearly that, looking down, one received the same impression of air and space as when lying on one’s back staring into the sky.  There never were such reflections, they declared.  No one came to disturb them, and only the songs and chirpings of birds and the sleepy sigh of the faint breeze in the boughs broke the silence.  Green and blue was that fairyland, warm with the sun and redolent of the sea and the sappy fragrance of sun-bathed foliage.