“It’s nothing,” the captain growled, disgusted with himself for attracting attention when he wanted to be alone, “I was just thinking, that’s all.  Can’t a man whoop when he wants to without everybody rushing around him like mad?”

“It all depends on what kind of a whoop it is, Robert,” his wife replied.  “We couldn’t tell whether you had gone out of your mind or had fallen off the verandah.”

“It’s that thing in his brain which did it, Mrs. Peterson,” Betty explained.  “Mr. David acted queer sometimes, though he never hollered out.  It must be something great, Captain,” she added, “which made you yelp like that.”

“It certainly was, girl,” and the captain smiled.  “I feel better now, though, so you women needn’t worry about me.”

The next morning David told Betty that he had made up his mind to visit the falls.  He said that he wished to see for himself the wonderful changes which had been made there.  Betty was delighted and at once set to work to prepare the luncheon they were to take with them.

“We’ll find a nice cosy place along the brook and have a picnic there,” she told Mrs. Peterson.

“I’m afraid there will not be many cosy places,” was the reply.  “You must be prepared for great changes up the brook.”

David and Betty were like two children off for a holiday as they left the Haven and walked gaily down the lane toward the main highway.  It was a perfect morning, and the perfume of clover from the expansive meadows scented the air.  Birds were darting here and there or twittering from the branches of the trees.  A short distance from the road, and partly concealed, a white tent nestled among the trees, though no sign of the artist was to be seen.  Betty breathed a sigh of relief when they were past.  She did not wish to see Bramshaw, to whom she had taken such a violent dislike.  She wondered where he was at that time of the morning.  Perhaps he was still asleep, she thought, for she knew that he prowled about late at night.

The tent was a small one, such as is generally used by campers.  It was in a beautiful situation, and it was so placed that it commanded an excellent view of the Haven and the lane leading to it.  It was a common occurrence for people from the city to camp along the river during the summer months, and people did not wonder about this one among the trees.  They all knew that Bramshaw was an artist of some note, and they felt rather pleased that he had come to Creekdale to obtain some pictures.

“I am glad we didn’t meet that artist this morning,” Petty remarked after they had left the tent out of sight.

“I cannot understand your dislike to the man,” David replied.  “He has been so civil to us both, and he is very fond of hearing about the work at the falls, and how the whole community will be benefited.”

“I can’t help it, Mr. David,” and Betty twirled the sunbonnet she was carrying in her hand, as was often her custom.  “He may be all right, but I don’t like him.  I wish he would go away and never come back.  Isn’t it strange how some people spoil everything?  We are so happy this morning because we are going to the falls together, and yet as soon as I think of that man I shiver.  I don’t understand it at all.”