hat I am not the real Dave Porter, I wonder how
they will treat me? Of course, they may be very kind to me--the same as
Laura and Jessie and the others up here. But kindness of that sort isn't
everything. I don't want any one to support me if I haven't some claim
on him." And then Dave shut his teeth hard, clenched his hands, and
walked on faster than ever.

Finally tired out because he had been on his feet since early morning,
Dave sat down on a flat rock to rest. As he did this, he heard the
put-put of a motor, and presently around a bend of the shore showed the
headlight of Mr. Appleby's motor-boat.

"I wonder if they are simply going down to the end of the lake, or
whether they are going to stop at our place," said Dave, to himself.
"I'd rather they wouldn't stop at Bear Camp to-night, when everything is
so upset."

As the motor-boat swung around, the headlight flashed full upon our hero
and there followed an exclamation from the manager of the moving-picture
company, who was at the wheel of the craft, with two men beside him.

"Hello there, Porter! What are you doing--fishing?"

"No, I just came down here to sit on the rock and do a little thinking,"
answered Dave.

"We are making a little trip around the lake," went on Mr. Appleby. "I
was going to stop at your dock and deliver a letter that came in our
mail by mistake. It's a letter for you, so I might as well give it to
you now."

"A letter for me, eh?" answered Dave.

"Yes, here you are!" went on Mr. Appleby, as the motor-boat came to a
standstill close by. "I'll put it in the newspaper and you can have that
too, as we have read it;" and suiting the action to the word, the man
placed the letter in the folds of the paper and tossed the latter
ashore.

"Will you stop?" questioned Dave.

"Not to-night. We are going to make a call on the other side of the
lake. I just thought I'd give you the letter, that's all," and then,
with a pleasant good-bye, the manager steered his motor-boat out into
Mirror Lake again.

It was too dark to read the letter without a light, and as Dave did not
happen to have even a match, he walked back to the bungalows. The
lanterns were hung out on the porches as was the custom, and under the
light of one of these he looked at the communication he had received.

"It's from Crumville!" he exclaimed to himself, eagerly, as he looked at
the postmark. But then, as he recognized the handwriting, his face fell.
"It's only from Nat P