owder sticks in the fabric. If you try to wash it out, it only sets the
cement."

Rick thought his pal probably was right. No one would use a cement bag
for supplies, now that he thought about it. He looked up suddenly as a
sound came through the trees. It was a motor, but a small two-cycle
kind, like a scooter or a small motorcycle.

"Someone coming," he said. "Let's go see who it is."

Scotty held onto the bag. They walked back through the trees and into
the camping ground in time to see a lanky, white-clad individual on a
three-wheeled motor scooter--the kind where the driver sits on a cargo
box--come to a stop. On the box were blue letters, dripping with white
frost, that spelled FROSTOLA. Underneath the letters was a list of
products: cream pies, frozen cones, cream sandwiches, icicles, and
quarts and pints.

Although Rick had never heard of Frostola, it was immediately clear that
this was an ice-cream vendor, of the kind that appears in swarms in warm
weather with ringing bells and tooting horns, in trucks, on scooters,
and even on bicycles.

The Frostola man gave them a cheery wave and tilted his white cap to the
back of his head. "Hi! Where's the crowd?"

"We're it," Scotty answered. "Were you expecting more?"

"Wasn't expecting anything," the man retorted. "It's a nice day for a
swim, so I thought I'd come sell refreshments to the swimmers."

"They're afraid of ghost fish," Rick said. "The place is haunted."

The man grinned. "I heard about the ghost. If he shows up I'll sell him
a cream pie."

"Sell me one," Rick invited, and Scotty echoed the thought.

"Pleasure." The man got off the seat and Rick saw that he was over six
feet tall, and built like a sapling. The boy also saw that he wasn't as
young as he at first appeared. That was odd, because the peddlers on
scooters were usually either very young or old.

The Frostola man opened the seat box and the boys looked in, at neat
stacks of ice cream packaged in various ways. The stuff was kept frozen
by slabs of dry ice wrapped in brown paper.

The cream pies were on a stick, and coated with chocolate, butterscotch,
and vanilla with coconut. Rick paid for his selection and Scotty's, then
commented, "It's a long way out here from town."

"Sure. But I enjoy the ride. It's a chance to get away from howling mobs
of kids."

A strange comment from one who made most of his sales to kids, Rick
thought. He noticed that the peddler was eying the bag Scott