cian. When they came to the
spot, however, they found but one basket, and that nearly empty.
The second basket had disappeared altogether.

"Fine!" grunted Dr. Bentley. "Greg, our committee of two must
go back and report the disquieting news."

"Not so very disquieting, sir," smiled young Holmes. "We have
a camp full of food to offer you."

That invitation Dick and Dave very quickly seconded when the doctor
rejoined the party.

"Especially if you can eat trout, sir," Dick went on.

"Don't! Don't be cruel!" remonstrated Dr. Bentley. "I used to
eat trout when I was a boy, but they are now an extinct fish."

"Are they, sir?" inquired Dick, unwrapping a paper from around
part of the morning's heavy catch, while Dave exhibited the contents
of a similar bundle.

Dr. Bentley rubbed his eyes.

"Bless me, these are a fine imitation of brook trout as I recall
them," he murmured.

"What did you mean by saying that trout were an extinct fish?"
asked Laura.

"They're extinct for all but the wealthy," replied the physician.
"Brook trout, in these days, generally cost all of a dollar and
a half a pound, and I've heard of as high as two dollars a pound
being paid for them."

"There are plenty hereabouts, just now," Dick replied. "But we
may take them all out of the water before we move from here."

"Of course," nodded Laura's father. "That's what trout are for.
They won't do anyone any good as long as they remain in the water."

"Let's hurry back, please," urged Dick. "I am anxious to see
your luncheon under way."

"Yes," teased Belle, "the sooner you have satisfied our appetites
the sooner you may expect to see us gone and be able to enjoy
yourselves and your comfortable solitude once more."

"Now, just for saying that, Belle," uttered Dick reproachfully,
"I'm going to consider the revenge of burning two of your trout
in the pan."

"Mercy!" cried Belle Meade. "Are you going to cook the trout?"

"After you've eaten a trout cooked and served up by Dick Prescott,"
Dave declared, "you won't want them cooked by anyone else. Dick
is the one trout chef in this part of the country."

"Where did he learn?" teased Belle with a pretense of suspicion.

"Mr. Morton---Coach Morton, of our high school eleven---taught
Dick how to do it," Dave explained.

"Right here, young ladies---attention!" called Dr. Bentley, holding
up a warning finger. "If brook trout are as fine eating as they
used to be when I was a boy,