“I don’t know why you and your people are so good to me,” he declared to Hal, when they both had duly admired the little picture.  Hal stared at him rather oddly, but did not reply, and it was many months before Shag understood what that look meant; but when it was explained the Indian recalled many things that had once perplexed him.

* * * * * * * *

It was late in May when Sir George and Lady Bennington left on their yearly visit to England, leaving Hal with the enviable holiday ahead of him of playing host at their summer residence in the Thousand Islands.  He was privileged to ask what boys he liked; he could have his own canoe and sailboat, any of the servants from the city residence that he wished, and just put in one long, golden summer, swimming, boating, rollicking around, getting tanned and healthy.  The only stipulation his parents made was that in addition to the crowd of boys asked he must invite one of the masters.  It did not matter which one, so what did Hal do but “cheek it up” to the Head, who had no family to summer with, and who usually wandered off to some lonely mountain resort by himself for the entire vacation.  Professor Warwick was amazed.

“Why, Bennington,” he exclaimed, “what ever do you want an old codger like me for?  There’s young Graham, almost a boy himself, and Lewes, the science man, a funny chap.  I always think Mr. Lewes is more fun than a cage of cats.  I’m a dried-up old fellow that most of the boys are afraid of.  You won’t enjoy yourself with me around all the time.”

“We’re only afraid of you in classes, sir,” laughed Hal; “no one is afraid of you outside.  I’ve heard the boys josh you on the ball grounds and at the sports no end of times.  You’ve just got to come, Professor!” And the old gentleman did go, to the delight of Hal’s parents, who left for England perfectly satisfied that the boys would be well looked after if the Professor was an inmate of their island home.

The party was just about the right size; two of the little boys who lived at the Pacific coast were asked, then Shorty and Cop and little chunky Johnny Miller and Shag Larocque—­seven all told, including Hal, and eight, counting the Professor, who, on the first night in camp said, a little gravely, “Hal, my boy, it is a great privilege to be the son of a wealthy man.  I have never cared for money, but I would like to be in a position where I could have the pleasure of entertaining my friends in this delightful way.”

“I hope I appreciate it, Professor,” replied the boy.  “Dad is always reminding me of the stacks of people not so well fixed as we are.  He frequently tells me of the times when he went hungry—­really hungry, without twenty-five cents with which to buy a meal, and he says if ever I forget it and try to put on ‘side’ that he will thrash me within an inch of my life, even after I am twenty-one.”

The Professor roared, a regular boyish shout.  “And he’d do it, too, I believe,” he chuckled.  “That is what makes Sir George so wonderful; with all his wealth he is the same dear old chap he always was.  I knew him when he was your age almost—­and the only thing about him that has changed is his hair; it is a little thinner now—­and grey.”