They certainly had, and they found much pleasure in living them over again in imagination.  While they were talking about the many happy hours they had spent there, they reached Bruin’s Island, and Don brought the canoe around and ran the bow upon the beach.  The hounds jumped out, and running about with their noses close to the ground, began to show the same signs of excitement that they had exhibited on the day of their first visit to the island.  The boys knew more now than they did then, and consequently were not in such haste to declare that it was a bear the dogs scented.  It might be Godfrey Evans; and that he or somebody else had been there since they left was very evident.  Their trap had been sprung by the aid of a long pole, which was still fast under the heavy roof; the lever and rope had been carried away; and the bag of corn which Don had hung upon the sapling had also disappeared.  Don was provoked, and laid up in his mind a few sharp words, to be addressed to Godfrey on the subject, should they ever happen to meet again; but he had very little to say.  The boys had been thoughtful enough to bring an axe, a piece of rope and another small bag of corn with them, and, although they had no assurance that their labor would not be wasted, they set the trap again and started for home.

“If Godfrey did that,” said Don, “he must have swam the bayou, unless he has a boat hidden away in the bushes somewhere, which is not likely.  If it was summer now, he would probably spring that trap every day, just to keep us from catching that bear; but the weather is getting frosty, and he’ll not relish many more cold baths.  I don’t think he will trouble us that way any more.”

When they reached the mouth of the bayou, Bert, who was steering, directed the canoe across the lake, toward the point on which the shooting-box was located.  During a pause in the conversation, he looked toward the place where it ought to be, but could see nothing of it.  “What’s the matter?” asked his brother, who saw that there was something wrong.

“That’s Long Point, isn’t it?” asked Bert, in reply.  “It certainly is, but where’s the house?”

“You haven’t been there in almost six months, and perhaps you have forgotten where it is,” said Don, with a laugh.

“No, I haven’t.  It stood close beside a big shell-bark, didn’t it?  Well, there’s the tree; now show me the shooting-box?”

Don faced about on his seat, expecting to point the building out to his brother at once, and was a good deal surprised when he found that he could not see it himself.  There was the tree, sure enough, but the spot which the shooting-box ought to have occupied, was vacant.  After running his eyes all along the shore, to satisfy himself that he had made no mistake as to the locality, Don picked up the oars again, and with a few more strokes brought the canoe to the bank.  All there was left of the shooting-box they could have carried away in their arms.  Even the stove had not escaped destruction.  The chimney had fallen upon it and it was completely ruined.