calm waters of Lake Sico—a shallow expanse, with mud flats at one side and a wilderness of trees, bushes, and wild canebrake at the other. They shut off the power and listened. Not a sound broke the stillness.
"Talk about solitude," was Tom's comment. "Here is where you can chop it out with an ax!"
"It's enough to make one shiver," added Fred.
Just then the dog Harold Bird had brought along set up a mournful howl.
"Even the dog doesn't like it," said Songbird. "Let us go on—I'd rather hear the puff-puff of the gasoline motor than listen to such stillness."
"I thought a poet craved solitude," said Dick. "This ought to fill you with inspiration."
"I think it will fill us with chills and fever," said Fred. "Ugh, how damp it is, now the sun is going down."
"There is a mist creeping up," said Harold Bird. "Too bad! I was in hope it would remain clear."
Soon the darkness of night settled over the lake. The mist continued to roll over them until they were completely enveloped and could no longer see where they were going.
"It can't be helped," said the owner of the launch. "We'll have to wait until daylight. If I light the acetylene gas lamp it will simply put those rascals on guard."
