it," shouted Pee-wee.

"Where is this romantic scaffold?" Townsend asked.

"The painters left it in the cellar," said Minerva. "Let's hurry, I'll
show you where it is."

There was, indeed, just time enough to arrange this novel life-saving
station with its picturesque gang-plank before the guests began to
arrive.

"And this is the end of our wild adventures on a foreign shore," said
Townsend, as he carried one end of the old scaffold across the
dim-lighted lawn accompanied by the group of excited maidens; "we wind
up at a lawn party. This is what the discoverer has brought us to."

"Don't you think he's just _killing_?" Minerva asked.

"More than that," said Townsend; "his hunter's stew is more than
killing. Did you ever try any of it?"

"Never mind, you're going to have some delicious chicken salad," said
Minerva.

The boys, under Minerva's enthusiastic supervision, tied the island
about six feet from shore. The romantic gang-plank kept it from
drifting closer in while two clothes-poles driven into the bottom of
the river just below it prevented it from drifting with the ebbing
tide. Pee-wee's trusty clothesline was stretched between the little
apple tree and the overhanging rhododendron bushes as an auxiliary
mooring and to hold the island steady.

Thus secured and free from the prosaic shore, the romantic isle
presented an inviting scene, with the little tent upon it and Japanese
lanterns shedding a mellow light from the bushes and the securing
clothesline. The rippling water flickered with a gentle and undulating
glow and inverted paper lanterns could be seen reflected beneath the
surface, as if indeed the beholder could look down and see romantic and
picturesque Japan on the opposite side of the earth.

The scaffold, forgetting its prosy usage, was resplendent in a winding
robe of bunting and on its railing where cans of white lead and linseed
oil had disported hung lanterns of every color in the rainbow. To this
enchanted isle would stroll dance-weary couples and famishing scouts to
regale themselves in this dim, detached, earthly paradise.

"Wait a minute, oh, just wait a minute!" cried Minerva in the spell of
such an inspiration as comes only once in a lifetime. "Oh, just wait
_one minute_."

She hurried across the lawn, returning presently with a huge, spotless
apron with strings of goodly dimension which, in a very glow of
inspired joy, she tied around the waist of Pee-wee Harris. It wa