These gifts led to out-of-door water-works, for the brook had to be dammed up, that a shallow ocean might be made, where Ben’s piratical “Red Rover,” with the black flag, might chase and capture Bab’s smart frigate, “Queen,” while the “Bounding Betsey,” laden with lumber, safely sailed from Kennebunkport to Massachusetts Bay.  Thorny, from his chair, was chief-engineer, and directed his gang of one how to dig the basin, throw up the embankment, and finally let in the water till the mimic ocean was full; then regulate the little water-gate, lest it should overflow and wreck the pretty squadron of ships, boats, canoes, and rafts, which soon rode at anchor there.

Digging and paddling in mud and water proved such a delightful pastime that the boys kept it up, till a series of water-wheels, little mills and cataracts made the once quiet brook look as if a manufacturing town was about to spring up where hitherto minnows had played in peace and the retiring frog had chanted his serenade unmolested.

Miss Celia liked all this, for anything which would keep Thorny happy out-of-doors in the sweet June weather found favor in her eyes, and when the novelty had worn off from home affairs, she planned a series of exploring expeditions which filled their boyish souls with delight.  As none of them knew much about the place, it really was quite exciting to start off on a bright morning with a roll of wraps and cushions, lunch, books, and drawing materials packed into the phaeton, and drive at random about the shady roads and lanes, pausing when and where they liked.  Wonderful discoveries were made, pretty places were named, plans were drawn, and all sorts of merry adventures befell the pilgrims.

Each day they camped in a new spot, and while Lita nibbled the fresh grass at her ease, Miss Celia sketched under the big umbrella, Thorny read or lounged or slept on his rubber blanket, and Ben made himself generally useful.  Unloading, filling the artist’s water-bottle, piling the invalid’s cushions, setting out the lunch, running to and fro for a flower or a butterfly, climbing a tree to report the view, reading, chatting, or frolicking with Sancho,—­any sort of duty was in Ben’s line, and he did them all well, for an out-of-door life was natural to him and he liked it.

“Ben, I want an amanuensis,” said Thorny, dropping book and pencil one day, after a brief interval of silence, broken only by the whisper of the young leaves overhead and the soft babble of the brook close by.

“A what?” asked Ben, pushing back his hat with such an air of amazement that Thorny rather loftily inquired: 

“Don’t you know what an amanuensis is?”

“Well, no; not unless it’s some relation to an anaconda.  Shouldn’t think you’d want one of them, anyway.”

Thorny rolled over with a hoot of derision, and his sister, who sat close by, sketching an old gate, looked up to see what was going on.