s it, Sis?" asked Chet, in surprise.

"_Don't_ tell the sheriff if you should run across the poor young man.
Don't tell anybody!"

"Why, Sis!"

"I have a reason. I can't tell you what it is," Laura said, half
sobbing. "Will you mind me, Chet?"

"Surest thing you know!" declared her brother, heartily.

"And without asking questions?"

"That's putting a bit of a strain on me," laughed Chet. "But I know
you must have a good reason, Sis. Only remember, when you want help,
you haven't any friend like your own 'buddy.'"

"I know it, dear," said Laura, kissing him. "You are the best brother
who ever lived!"

This was all "on the side." When they rejoined the others, neither
Chet nor Laura revealed any particular emotion. The girls all promised
to be ready for the fishing trip an hour after daybreak on the
following morning.

Meanwhile, everything at Acorn Island went on as usual. Liz Bean
seemed no more morose than before. Mrs. Morse was much too busy to
notice small things. She had half-heartedly offered to accompany the
girls and boys to Bang-up Creek for the fishing; but they had all
assured her that it would be unnecessary.

Instead, they were to come home by mid-afternoon and all have supper
at the island. The boys brought over a part of their own provisions,
when they arrived in the bigger motorboat soon after sun-up.

Purt Sweet was the only boy who did not have a smile on; he looked
gloomy indeed.

"What's the matter?" asked Jess.

"Surely he isn't afraid of the Barnacle, is he?" queried Dora.

"Don't bother about _him_," said Dorothy. "He's tied up, anyway, so as
not to follow us."

"How do you think that dog can follow us, when we're going ten miles
by boat?" demanded Reddy Butts.

"I don't know but the Barnacle would sprout wings and fly through the
air after Purt," giggled Bobby.

"It isn't the dog this time that troubles Purt--deah boy!" drawled
Lance Darby.

"What is it?" asked Laura.

"Purt's day is spoiled," declared Lance. "He has come off without his
cigarettes."

"Cigarettes!" exclaimed Jess. "I thought we had shown him the folly of
smoking coffin nails long ago."

"Oh, he doesn't smoke any," Lance returned. "But he always carries a
case of them around with him. You know, he bought a thousand once with
his monogram printed in gold on them, and he never _will_ get rid of
them all. He thought it would be a good thing to bring them to camp
with him so as to use them for a smudge to