“We can’t pitch the tent, soldier fashion.  We must drive down four forked stakes; then put poles on the forks, and cover the whole with cloth.”

“But where are the stakes and the poles?”

“We can cut them in the woods.  We will get Joe Braman’s ax, and do it this forenoon.”

“Suppose they should make a raft, and come off to us?” suggested Charles.

“We have two fast boats, and can easily keep out of their way,” replied Tim.  “If they want to fight we can beat them off.”

Charles did not approve of fighting, and thought it would be bad policy.  Tim was tolerably tractable now that he was having his own way, and was not very strenuous in support of his own pugnacious views.  When their plans were fully digested they left the island to prepare the stakes.  Before noon they separated, and the truant returned home about the usual time.

That afternoon he joined the Zephyrs in an excursion up the lake, and another lighthouse was erected in the vicinity of a dangerous reef.

“What shall we do next week?” asked Charles, as they were returning home.

“We are going up the river,” replied Frank.  “My father has consented to it.”

“Has he?  That will be first rate.”

“And so has George Weston.”

Charles relapsed into deep thought.  He was thinking how much better he could enjoy himself with good boys than with such fellows as the Rovers; for, though he was “master of marine” among them, he could not help acknowledging to himself that they were not pleasant companions.  They used profane and vulgar language; were always disposed to quarrel.  Disputes which were settled peaceably in the clubs were decided by a fight among the Rovers; and the ambitious “master” had many misgivings as to his ability to control them.  Tim could manage them very well; for, if one was turbulent, he struck him and knocked him down; and Charles had not the brute courage to do this.

“What are you thinking about, Charley?” asked Frank, pleasantly.

“Nothing,” replied Charles, promptly, as he tried to laugh.

“You act rather queerly this afternoon; just as though you had something on your mind.”

“O, no; nothing of the kind.”

“I hope you don’t regret the expulsion of Tim Bunker.”

“Certainly not.”

Charles tried to be gay after that; but he could not.  There was a weight upon his soul which bore him down, and he felt like a criminal in the presence of his companions.  He was glad when the club landed, and the members separated—­glad to get away from them, for their happy, innocent faces were a constant reproach to him.

Sunday was a day of rest; but every moment of it was burdened with a sin against God and against himself.  Every moment that he delayed to repent was plunging him deeper and deeper in error and crime.  Strangely enough, the minister preached a sermon about the Prodigal Son; and the vivid picture he drew of the return of the erring wanderer so deeply affected the youthful delinquent that he fully resolved to do his duty, and expose the Rovers’ scheme.