What sport it would be to have at last a place
which he could call his own! He could bring his books from home, his
box of electrical things--all his treasures--and settle down in his
kingdom like a young lord. He did not care at all if he had only a
hammock to sleep in. The great satisfaction would be to be his own
master and monarch of his own realm, no matter how tiny it was. Like
lightning his imagination sped from one dream to another. If only Mr.
Wharton would let him run some wires from the barn to the shack, what
electrical contrivances he could rig up! He could then light the room
and heat it, too; he could even cook by electricity.

Probably, however, Mr. Wharton would consider such a notion out of the
question and much too ambitious. Even though the Fernalds had an
electrical plant of their own, such a luxury was not to be thought of.
A candle would do for lighting, of course.

[Illustration: Soon he came within sight of the shack which stood at
the water's edge. _Page_ 27.]

Busy with these thoughts and others like them he sped across the meadow
and through the woods toward the river. He was not content to walk the
distance but like a child leaped and ran with an impatience not to be
curbed. Soon he came within sight of the shack which stood at the
water's edge, mid-way between Aldercliffe and Pine Lea, and was
sheltered from view by a grove of thick pines. Its bare, boarded walls
had silvered from exposure to the weather until it was scarcely
noticeable against the gray tree trunks. Nevertheless, its crude, rough
sides, its staring windows, and its tarred roof looked cheerless and
deserted enough. But for Ted Turner it possessed none of these
forbidding qualities. Instead of being a hermitage it seemed a
paradise, a fairy kingdom, the castle of a knight's tale!

Thrusting the key which Mr. Wharton had given him into the padlock, he
rolled open the sliding door and intermingled odors of cedar, tar, and
paint greeted him. The room was of good size and was neatly sheathed as
an evident preparation for receiving a finish of stain which, however,
had never been put on. There were four large windows closed in by
lights of glass, a rough board floor, and a fireplace of field stone.
Everywhere was dirt, cobwebs, sawdust, and shavings; and scattered
about so closely there was scarcely space to step was a litter of
nails, fragments of boards, and a conglomeration of tin cans of various
sizes.

Almost any one wh