let him out at the back and laced down the flaps.

"Of course, there was no harm in it. And there may be no harm in the
man himself, or his reason for being here on Acorn Island.

"But if the girls hear of it--all of them, I mean--they are going to
be scared again, and it will break up our outing and spoil all our
fun. Now! I want to know what it means, Liz."

"Don't mean nothin'," declared the girl, sullenly.

"Why, _that_ is no answer," cried Laura.

"Then there ain't none," said Liz, shrugging her narrow shoulders, and
she turned to her work again.

"You absolutely refuse to talk to me about him?" demanded Laura,
rather vexed.

"I ain't got nothin' to say," muttered Lizzie Bean.

"Then I'll find out about him in some other way. It is that Mr. Norman
you spoke about before--I am sure of _that_. And I shall write to
Albany and learn why he is up here and what he is doing. Of one thing
I am sure: he has no business on this island frightening the girls.
The island is private property and is posted."

If Liz was at all frightened by this threat, she did not show it. And,
to tell the truth, it was an empty threat. Laura Belding did not know
whom to write to in the city. She did not know the address at which
Liz had worked there, and at which the mysterious Mr. Norman had been
a boarder.

Some of the boys came over that afternoon and arranged with the girls
of Acorn Island Camp to go fishing up the lake the next day. There was
a certain creek, which came in from the north side, that was supposed
to be well stocked with perch and trout.

"Part of it is posted, I believe," said Chet. "Some old grouch owns a
fishing right on the stream. But we can keep off his territory. And
we'll show you girls how to fish with a fly, and to use your reels."

"Teach us how to fish with mosquitoes--they're more plentiful than
flies since the rain," Jess said, slapping at one which was just
presenting his bill.

"Crackey!" exclaimed Billy Long. "You've got it good here. There are
not many of the beasts on this island. But there's a swamp not far
behind our camp, and it's a shame to call the things that come from
that swamp, mosquitoes--they are more like flying tigers!"

"I suppose the old sabre-toothed tiger, of our prehistoric days, was
no more savage than these swamp fly-by-nights," Chet laughed.

"Don't you have any other visitors over yonder?" Laura asked.

"Oh, say! we had some this morning. Did you hear the hounds bay