“He sure is, honey,” said Jane, patting him on the back. “He sure is.”
They were coming along the eastern shore of the lake now and the steamy heat was making everyone thirsty. “Any water left back there, James?” called Bill.
Billy took a long look at the distant pier that meant home and wet his lips.
“Boy, I’m thirsty. I tell you what let’s do. There’s a pump in the front yard of the haunted house. Let’s stop there and get a cold drink.”
This suggestion was strongly approved by the others, and Billy turned in at the ramshackle pier of the deserted house. Folks around Oak Lake called it the Mott place, but Dad said that no one had lived there for forty or fifty years. Ben, the handy man, said it was haunted, and Janie always shivered a little as she went past it, even on a bright sunny day like this one. It was a full three stories high, with turrets and gables and balconies. The decorations around the eaves looked like the ornamental icing on a wedding cake. It must have been very grand when it was new and nicely cared for. You could still see the outlines of the old gardens, but the flowers were long since choked out by the tall weeds. There was a fountain in the front yard too, rusty and dry. The figure of a little girl stood in the top basin. She was fat and dimpled and she held a protesting duck in her arms ... an iron one, of course. She must have stood there summer and winter for fifty years, and yet, somehow she didn’t look lonesome or unhappy. Ben said there used to be an elaborate group of stables on the place, but they burned down long ago. All that was left of the out-buildings was a small shack covered with tar paper. There was an evergreen windbreak all along the north side of the property, and the branches swayed and sighed in the wind. Janie really shivered this time.
“B’r’r’r,” she said. “This is the lonesomest place I ever saw. Let’s get out of here.”
“Aw,” said James, “you always talk just like a girl.” “There’s the pump,” called Bill. “I see it down there in those tall weeds. I’m so thirsty, I could drink a gallon.”
The boat nosed into the pier, and Davey was the first to step ashore. He raced over the wobbly boards and toward the pump calling, “First drink! First drink!”