Journey & Discovery

By Jeanne Linton

Book 1: Summer At Stillwater Lake
Amy Anderson takes us on a journey into Northern Michigan where she spends her summer working at a remote fishing lodge for her aunt and uncle. In the company of her cousin, Paul, they ride the bus as far as Cheboygan only to find no one waiting to meet them. This is only the beginning of their troubled journey.
Along the way, they meet Pete and his load of feeder pigs. The story builds when the cousins run into Billy, Peteís grandson. Billy is on a quest to win the pig race at the county fair in August. Intrigue tightens when they come up against Billyís arch rival, whoís bent on winning the race at all costs. Join us on this adventure and find out how Billy meets the challenge.
A sub-story emerges as Amy witnesses the development of a bond between two young pirates, a dog, and a litter of kittens. Mrs. Farley, a visitor to the resort, comes to understand the meaning of compassion when she encounters the pirates. How this all plays out is not only heart-warming but an example of karma at work.
As you leaf through the story, you will discover the author has woven the thread of adventure, intrigue, deception and mystery into the story.

Book 2: The Adventures Of Fieora Radcliff
In the engaging story of Fieora Radcliff, Jeanne Linton presents a powerful portrayal of a complex young girl struggling and searching for her own identity in a broken family. Intelligent and resourceful, but also impetuous, sometimes implacable and impish, often pushy and self-centered, Fieora seems to be on a self-absorbed mission to make herself happy while punishing everyone else. She is overweight and overbearing with very few friends. Her father, Randall, an affluent store owner is struggling to raise Fieora alone after his wife, Ginger, has deserted the family several years earlier. Mrs. Minerva is the kindly housekeeper, but certainly no match for the angry bitter Fieora.
As the story unfolds, Fieora is kidnapped and her ill-tempered behavior will now be unleased on two unwitting and grossly unprepared captors. Facing great danger and uncertainty, Fieora remains obstinate and uncooperative, eventually forcing her inept kidnappers to feel as though they are the captives. Immediately following her rescue and dramatic return home, Fieoraís mother suddenly reappears from life in a circus to reclaim her daughter. The brief reunion and a new life in the circus, however, are doomed to fail as a frustrated Fieora balks at her motherís expectations and runs away. When all seems lost, a chance meeting with a poor Cajun family flips a switch that will change her life forever. Self-awareness and personal growth are powerful forces.
The new Fieora, on a return visit to her father, is moved to the home of the Pringle family where she is asked to help out. Initially she resists the arrangement but ends up attaching herself to the family and discovering her faithful mount, Canterberry.
Many years later she returns to Witherspoon and contacts the Pringle family and experiences a joyous reunion. Come, read all about it.

Book 3: The Elliotmobile
The delightful story of Kaylee Appleby takes through a window into the adventuresome life of a resourceful young girl caught between a confident and able older brother and a precocious likeable younger brother. Kaylee is used to being uprooted and struggling to make friends. When she runs into Brenda after she starts school, she finds her kindred spirit in the company of this farm girl who is herself single out by her peers. The girls fall into the company of an older boy who was disabled after a tragic accident. The girls pursue the challenge of getting Elliot off of his front porch and into the mainstream of life. Come, join the adventure and watch the story unfold...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanne Linton
• Release date: Jan 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463787113

Jeanne Linton

I was born in Vancouver, B.C. Married when I was 22 and moved to the midwest with my husband. While living in Michigan I had four children. Although I liked living in the U.S. after I was divorced, I returned to B.C. with two of my children where I have lived ever since, only returning to visit my family still in the U.S. I am retired now, enjoying my life, and continuing to write stories.I have written three young adult novels, a book where the main character is a chicken, but mostly science fiction novels. The science fiction novels ;'Seeds of the Galaxy' deals with the roots of humanity as they are forced from their world because of a changing environment and migrate across the cosmos.My books are listed on Smashwords under Jeannelinton.

Book preview

Summer At Stillwater Lake

By

Jeanne Linton

Reader’s Comments

The story has a captivating theme about what goes on at a summer resort in the northern woods among a group of teenagers. I liked the many interesting facts about nature and farm life.

---Nicole, Coquitlam, British Columbia

I enjoyed the comical story about the young boys who take their imaginations to the limits and the relationship they create with their new friend, Twinkles, who transforms himself from a pampered pooch into a playmate. One of the heroes of the story, Gilbert, shows how intelligent a pig actually is.

---Ruth, Howell, Michigan

"I like the win, win story where people come to terms with themselves. I appreciated not only the personal growth but the information about wildlife and farm animals.

---Keri, Fenton, Michigan

Dedication

To my daughter LINDA

You have always been a candle in the gloom

Whether near or far, you are the pillar of my heart

Funny, sweet, and wise,

Your loving kindness lights my way through life’s darkest hours

Copyright

Summer At Stillwater Lake © Copyright 2016 by Jeanne Linton. All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.

The opinions expressed by the author are her own.

Available on iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Kobo, and Smashwords.

For other works including children’s books and science fiction please see my website: jeannelinton.com

ISBN: 9781370371433

Into the North

As I pass through the turnstile, Aren’t you excited? Just think: quiet summer days, fishing for northern pike, trout and walleye, toasting marshmallows around a campfire, canoeing on Stillwater Lake, and meeting so many new and interesting people. Could there be a better way to spend the summer?

Let’s not lose our heads, Amy. It’s a summer job, Paul scoffs.

Less than impressed with his lack of enthusiasm, I give him a sinister glance, I know it’s just a summer job but how much work’s involved in cleaning a few cabins? After all, the lodge is Aunt Peggy and Uncle John’s home and not only is Aunt Peggy a fabulous cook; she’s a neat freak as well. All we have to do is the initial cabin cleaning, cut the grass once a week, look after the rental boats, and rinse out the fish buckets after the fish are cleaned. We may have to carry a little firewood for the cabin’s wood stoves and the campfires, but nothing else. The rest of the time is ours to fish or hike or just hang out on the beach. We can use the boats in the afternoon when the guests are off doing other things.

You have to help Aunt Peggy in the kitchen. Did you forget about that?

Oh! Well, that’s not a big deal, I respond.

Exhaling deeply, Do you ever stop talking?

It was late in the evening when Daddy dropped us off at the bus terminal in Ann Arbor. After waving goodbye, we boarded the bus and settled into the back row of seats so we could sleep without being disturbed. As the bus enters the expressway, I stare out the window into the darkness watching the traffic weaving in and out. With the hypnotic lights, the swaying of the bus, and the humming of the tires, I’m soon lulled to sleep.

Its Paul turning over that wakes me in the predawn hours. I gaze toward the east where the darkened sky is turning soft amber and then I direct my attention to the aisle ahead of us to find we’ve picked up passengers during the night. With Paul still asleep, I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. I can’t deny that the humming of the tires has a mesmerizing effect but finding sleep is impossible. I lie quietly as my mind wanders to thoughts of the coming adventure.

Soon we are entering the city of Cheboygan and before long the bus pulls into the terminal and stops in front of Gate 2. Stepping off the bus, my eyes trace the crowd, He must be late, I suggest. He said he’d meet us here in front of Gate 2.

It’s a long drive from the resort, Amy, anything could have happened. Paul sets his suitcase on the pavement and sits on it. I do the same. Before long the terminal empties and we find ourselves alone.

After a long hour of anxious waiting, Paul searches through his pockets looking for Uncle John’s letter. It’s here, pointing to the letter, pick you up on the 17th in front of Gate 2 in Cheboygan.

Looking over his shoulder, But it’s not clear, Paul. It doesn’t say which month.

His brow furrows, I came in May last year.

Maybe we should call. Do you have the number?

No, but I can get it from information. If he doesn’t answer, we’ll take the bus to Marquette and then another bus to Copper Harbor and hitch a ride to the resort.

Nice plan, Paul, I scoff. What if they’re already on the road?

How long are you prepared to wait? he scowls. If they’re still home, I’ll tell Uncle John to pick us up in Copper Harbor. Paul stomps off.

I fight the urge to cry. I’m hungry and stressed but as I suck back my emotions, I’m beginning to wonder if turning fifteen last month and getting a job was such a great idea.

Paul reappears, They didn’t answer so I left a message. I told him to meet us at the bus stop in Copper Harbor. That bus doesn’t leave for another two hours so let’s get breakfast because I’m starving and I know you must be too.

* * *

I know somethings amiss because Uncle John never did show up in Cheboygan and we were still there two hours later. It’s well past two in the afternoon by the time we reach Copper Harbor. When we get off the bus in front of the service station, Uncle John is still nowhere to be seen. A sinking feeling wells up in the pit of my stomach as Paul disappears into the general store. He returns wearing a scowl. There’s still no answer. Giving me a disgruntled look, Its five miles down the road. We’ll have to walk.

How do you know its five miles and what if they’re not even home? I snap.

I asked how far it is and I know how to get into the lodge without a key, he answers abruptly. Besides are you forgetting, I’ve spent the last four summers working at the Angler’s Arm. I know Copper Harbor, the road, and where the lodge is. However, if you want to camp out here, be my guest but I’m going to the lodge.

I follow my fearless leader at a safe distance knowing he’s in a worse mood than I am. If the truth be known, I think he’s sick of me and this is only the beginning of summer.

Following the winding gravel road through the stunted forest, the sun warms us and a gentle breeze out of the west makes the journey tolerable. Except for the fact that my suitcase is getting heavier and heavier and I’m exhausted, the walk is spiritually calming.

Suddenly, a distant rattling catches my attention. As I turn, I see a dilapidated truck coming our way. When the truck pulls beside us, a midget of a man asks, Need a lift?

The sounds from the back of the truck indicate that he’s a pig farmer. I cringe at the very thought of riding in the smelly broken down wreck. Besides, the old man appears to be about a hundred and four and is as filthy as his truck.

How far are you going? Paul asks.

Up the road a piece, the man answers.

Do you have room for us? as Paul’s eyes turn to our bags.

Tight, but we can manage, the old man answers. Throw the bags behind the seat.

Pete’s the name, he announces as I slide into the cab beside Paul. I picked up the feeders at the auction in Houghton early this morning. Looks like a good lot except for one runt. He’ll be the Labor Day barbecue.

We had only gone about a mile when Pete slams on the brakes and swerves to miss a doe and her fawn as they bound across the road in front of us. The truck pulls hard to the right, hits a soft shoulder and slides into a shallow ditch. There’s a loud clunk from the back.

Tailgates fallen, Pete announces. Help me, as he grabs his cane and leaps out of the cab. He slams the tailgate shut and bounds after the escaping piglets using his looped cane. Paul grabs one of the frightened animals by its leg and hangs on until Pete takes the squealing creature from him and throws it into the back of the truck.

Without giving a thought to the fact that the trucks sitting on an angle, I open the passenger door in order to help. To my surprise, I slide off the seat and land in a sea of muck hidden under the tall marsh grass. Struggling to regain my footing, I grab hold of a tiny piglet that’s about to drown. I hold him against my body in order to prevent him from escaping as the mud covered piglet wiggles and squiggles while I wade through the knee-deep tangled grass toward the road. By the time I escape the marsh, the other piglets are already back in the truck. I extend the thrashing piglet for Pete to throw in with the others.

Paul’s face takes on that familiar frown, Is she riding in the cab?

Wearing a Cheshire grin on his weathered old face, the old man states, Guess it wouldn’t be right to leave her out here for the buzzards. However, I sure don’t relish the thought of her messing up my cab. Besides, she smells kind of funny.

I respond, You’ve been playing with pigs all morning and I smell funny! Besides, your truck’s already filthy. What possible harm can I do?

The lodge is only a couple miles down the road, Amy. Besides, the pigs won’t bother you none. You’ve already made a friend and you’re about as smelly as you’re going to get. Who knows, they may think you’re their mama, Paul chuckles.

My eyes narrow as I snarl, You can’t be serious.

* * *

As we pull into the Angler’s Arm, Uncle John and Aunt Peggy hurry from one of the cabins to greet us. What are you doing here? Uncle John asks in surprise. His mouth drops as I emerge from the back of the truck. Glory be! escapes Uncle John’s lips. Where did you find that?

Ignoring Uncle John’s comments, You said the 17th, Paul states.

Yes, 17th of June, not May, Uncle John responds. Amy doesn’t finish school until the 6th of June.

She wrote her exams early so she could come with me.

Aunt Peggy carefully embraces me, Welcome to Angler’s Arm, as she tries to stop from laughing. I’m sure there’s a reasonable story to go along with what seems to have been an unfortunate experience. You can tell me all about it after we get you cleaned up.

Aunt Peggy approaches Pete, Thanks for giving the kids a lift, Pete.

Angler’s Arm

The next couple of weeks are spent cleaning the cabins and the grounds around the resort. I’m completely taken by surprise as to what can happen to an unheated cabin when left unattended. It takes me all day to thoroughly clean one cabin. With five more to go, my work is definitely cut out for me and my idea of a leisurely summer is somewhat deflated. Fortunately, the cabins are constructed of solid tongue-n-grove panels because drywall or ordinary paneling would be destroyed over the winter. As it is, some of the tongue-n-grove has turned black at the base and no matter how hard I scrub; I can’t get the mold stain off. At least the floors are easier; the linoleum cleans up quickly with hot water, soap, and bleach.

Paul and Uncle John are busy clearing the wind-falls, repainting the dock and boats, and making the necessary repairs to the cabin roofs. Finally, the lodge is ready to receive guests.

* * *

Since no guests have arrived yet, Sunday is a free day. Paul had already spent a number of years at Angler’s Arm helping Uncle John but this is my first time as an employee. It’s not that I hadn’t been here before but on previous occasions I was on vacation and I was much younger.

Today will be different. Today we’ll explore Stillwater Lake, which is a long narrow waterway nestled in the wilderness between two large hills close to Lake Superior. The resort is a fisherman’s paradise.

As we paddle our canoe close to shore, my eyes drink in the diversified landscape which has been virtually untouched by human hand with its tall hills, pristine forest, and low marsh. I can see through the clear lake water to the bottom, which is made up primarily of sand and sparse areas of solid rock. As the gentle breeze caresses my cheeks, my gaze is drawn to a series of ripples about twenty feet from shore.

Is there an undertow? as I point to the ripples.

There’s a slight current caused by the lake draining into Lake Superior off to the west. The ripples are caused by the current rushing over a high ridge.

Is it dangerous? I ask.

I don’t think so.

Looking into the water again, I catch a glimpse of several transparent fry. Look, Paul, fish!

It’s a fishing lodge, Amy, he says matter-of-fact.

Encountering a break in the trees and a trail leading into the woods, Paul pulls the canoe in the direction of the shore. Let’s follow that trail and see where it leads, he suggests.

We beach the canoe and follow the trail for about a hundred feet when I hear a rustling in the underbrush. Suddenly, a small piglet bursts from the bush and darts along the trail. Startled, I let out a high-pitch shriek.

For heaven’s sake, a strong voice challenges, it’s a pig, and a runt at that.

Looking squarely into the face of a freckle-faced blue-eyed farm boy, his mouth breaks into a huge grin as he asks, You must be the Anderson’s niece.

Billy, good to see you, Paul says.

You’ll have to excuse me, as the boy dashes along the trail chasing the piglet, Follow me. We have to talk.

Paul’s curiosity roused, Come on, Amy, this could prove interesting.

You know him?

We met in Copper Harbor a few times and I’ve spent time with him on the lake. He’s a good kid but a little different.

The trail leads us away from the lake for several hundred yards. When we emerge from the bush, I can’t believe my eyes. There, standing in the middle of the yard is Pete, the man we met on the road several weeks before. He walks toward us. What brings you here?

Paul answers, Billy invited us.

He’s in the barn with the runt, as Pete motions with his head. I told him not to get attached. Does he listen? NO. Pete continues toward the house as he yells over his shoulder, Billy has chores so don’t stay long. He abruptly turns, Billy plans to enter the runt in the summer fair. Now you tell me, how do you get a sneaky, illusive, stubborn runt of a pig like that to respond to commands? It’ll never happen. But what do I know? Pete hesitates, Mind you, winning a two- hundred dollar prize would be nice. A toothy grin slithers across his weathered face. By the way, how do you know my grandson?

We met at the Copper Harbor restaurant a couple of years ago, Paul answers. We’re of like mind on a few matters.

Pete shakes his head, Boy’s a little daft if you ask me.

We continue toward the large two-story barn. The heavy barn door creeks as Paul pulls it open. Billy, Paul yells.

I’m in the basement. Open the trap door and use the ladder at the side of the barn, echoes through the breaks in the floorboards.

Paul leads the way to the opposite end of the barn where we find an open trap door with a lid already lying to the side. Is the ladder safe? Paul calls.

Yah, just watch your step.

We climb down the ladder to find ourselves standing in a series of stalls. Off to one end is a large stall containing four piglets. Another stall holds three lambs and the third houses a calf. The end of the barn opens into a large exercise pen which is surrounded by solid fencing. Feeding troughs are placed in each stall. One long trough circles the barn and reaches outside providing water for the animals in each stall as well as outside in the pen.

I’m glad you came. Did you meet Grandpa on the way in?

Well, actually we met him a few weeks ago. He gave us a ride to my Uncle’s resort.

I thought that was you. He told us the story at dinner that night. He mentioned a stupid city girl falling into the muck and coming out smelling worse than the compost pile. He had us in stitches. Turning to me, So, you were Gilbert’s first victim?

I fell into the marsh when I tried to help catch the piglets. I ended up riding to the resort in the back of that smelly truck with the animals.

You survived, he shrugs. Turning to Paul, "Here’s the plan. Grandpa thinks Gilbert’s a stupid runt. I see a gutsy survivor. Most runts starve to death in the first few weeks because the stronger piglets push them away from the mother. He made it all the way to auction. Individually, nobody would buy him but he was part of a lot. The whole litter went for seventy-five dollars. Grandpa saw it as a good deal because he wants to start breeding.

So far, Gilbert’s the only one who’s tried to escape. He’s done it four times in the past three weeks so he’s not stupid. Here’s the deal, I asked Grandpa to let me train Gilbert for the pig race. If he wins, Grandpa gets the prize money and I keep Gilbert as a pet. If Gilbert loses, he’s Labor Day dinner for the Henderson’s. Here’s the problem. I need help training Gilbert."

What’s in it for us? Paul asks.

You keep the ribbon for posterity and the privilege of sharing Labor Day dinner with the Henderson’s. Hopefully, we’ll be eating hamburgers and hot dogs.

Paul snickers, That sounds like a deal. But you’ll have to show me what to do.

Paul extends his hand. Billy spits into his palm. The spit shake is a binding deal, more binding than a regular hand shake. Spit in your palm, Paul.

What about me? I ask when Billy doesn’t offer his hand to me after I had spit in it.

This is an agreement between gentlemen.

And I’m chopped liver? I scowl.

No, you’re a girl, Billy responds.

I don’t appreciate being considered useless, as I wipe the spit from my hand.

You’re not useless, Amy, but this is a gentleman’s agreement.

Meeting the Turners

I’m sitting on the porch that Monday morning when a brown SUV pulls into the yard and parks in front of unit six. Four men emerge. Three of the men begin unloading the SUV while the fourth walks toward the lodge. I continue watching as Uncle John approaches the man. The man extends his hand and lightly slaps Uncle John’s back in a greeting of familiarity.

Later that day, another vehicle enters the yard. This time it’s a new Lexus with a middle-age couple and a small dog. As the car comes to a stop, the dog barks persistently. The lady tries to quiet him but the dog continues. He leaps back and forth between the front and back seats, yapping and whining, but the more she tries to quiet the animal, the more ferocious he becomes.

As the man gets out of the car, Twinkles, SHUT-UP! the man barks.

The dog immediately stops barking but leaps into the back seat to look out the rear window and watch his master. Within a few minutes, he begins to yap again.

Upon hearing the commotion, Uncle John appears. Mr. Farley, welcome back. Come in. Come in. Uncle John peers into the Lexus, Where’s George?

George had a hip replacement a few weeks ago. I brought the wife instead. She insisted on bringing that miserable mutt. I hope you don’t mind?

Not at all, Uncle John replies. How was your trip?

It was fine but we’re both starving.

Uncle John offers, Your room’s ready but dinner won’t be served until around six. After we get your bags to your room, Amy will serve you and several other guests’ sandwiches on the patio.

Peering at the dog, We don’t mind the dog, but he’ll have to be watched closely because there are predators in these parts. I wouldn’t like to have a tragedy.

The dog never leaves Lillian’s lap, Mr. Farley responds.

Do you plan to take the dog fishing?

Since my wife will not be fishing, no. She brought several books so it’s a win, win situation.

That’s great. I’ll hook you up with a fishing buddy or you can use my nephew as a guide. Nobody goes out on the lake alone. It’s a safety issue.

Sounds good to me, Mr. Farley answers.

The schedule is the same as last year. There’s coffee and muffins waiting in the dining room before you set out in the morning. We serve a large breakfast for everyone around ten o’clock. Dinner is around six for the lodge guests. At eight, we serve coffee, tea or punch, and desert for anyone who cares to join us on the patio. Most evenings there’s a bonfire on the beach and plenty of marshmallows. I hope that suites your schedule.

Uncle John picks up two of the four suitcases while Mr. Farley takes the others into the lodge. Mrs. Farley follows her husband carrying Twinkles.

* * *

By the middle of the week all twelve cabins are full and two of the six bedrooms are occupied. Each night, after it gets dark, the guests gather around the campfire to toast marshmallows and share stories. When I join the group, it’s obvious that some of the stories have been embellished and, I’m sure, some are complete fabrication. I guess that’s why they’re called fish stories.

A family with two small children is expected on Friday. The father, mother, and two small boys aged five and eight will be staying in the lodge. Apparently the father is an avid fishermen and the mother needs to get away from the hustle and bustle of their busy lives. The boys need space to burn off energy and learn how to get along with each other.

I’m just finishing the breakfast dishes when I look out the window to see a two-door sedan pull into the yard. As it stops in front of the lodge, the adults get out followed by two cute young boys. The boys don’t hesitate for an instant. They’re on a dead run toward the lake.

Mrs. Farley’s sitting on the porch with Twinkles in her lap. Twinkles leaps from her lap the instant he hears the car door slam. He stands on the porch and barks obstinately at the children running toward the lake as he paces back and forth nervously.

Stop it, Twinkles, Mrs. Farley commands.

Distracted by her command, the dog stands mesmerized for only a moment and then begins the sharp annoying barking again. He stops when Mrs. Farley picks him up.

What am I going to do with you, Twinkles? You’re a naughty boy. Mrs. Farley disappears into the lodge.

What a cute little dog, the lady comments.

But tiny dogs can be nippy, the man answers.

As I come through the front door, You must be the Turner’s, I comment. If you like, I’ll show you to your rooms so you can get settled. Although you weren’t expected until after lunch, it’s nice that you arrived early. It’ll give you time to look around the grounds and see the lake so you can plan tomorrow’s activities.

And you are? Mrs. Turner offers her hand.

My name’s Amy. I’m the Anderson’s niece.

My name’s Linda and this is my husband, Ted. The boys are Theo and Lincoln. We’ll do our best to see that the boys behave.

There’s not much they can get into. I trust you have life vests for them if you plan to take them onto the lake.

You’re uncle advised that the resort only has adult vests so we brought our own for the boys.

Come; let me show you to your rooms. I pick up one of the smaller suitcases and lead the way into the lodge.

Mrs. Turner yells to the boys, Don’t go into the water.

* * *

I’m cutting the vegetables for that evening’s meal when I look out the open kitchen window and observe Twinkles standing at the open front door. Sniffing the air cautiously, a muffled moan breaks from the back of the dog’s throat. After assessing that the situation appears safe enough, he lies on his belly and inches his way across the porch to where the youngest child sits holding an ice cream cone that’s dripping down his arm. Lincoln is oblivious to the dog’s presence as he licks around the cone and then bits the bottom off. The tiny dog eases up to him and cautiously licks the boy’s ice cream covered arm.

Staring straight into the dog’s eyes, Go away, Lincoln says.

The dog sits down and glares intently at the cone. Lincoln narrows his eyes and turns his back on Twinkles, shielding his cone. The dog’s breath is heavy on Lincoln’s neck as he reaches over the boy’s shoulder and licks the ice cream off the child’s cheek. Lincoln thrusts the cone about wildly, afraid that the dog will take it from him. Accidentally, Lincoln brushes the cone against the dog’s head and gets ice cream all over his fur. The boy giggles. Knowing that the dog is not going to go away, he gingerly offers the dog a lick. The dog slowly reaches out and takes a quick lick. Liking the taste, he licks furiously at the cone as he inches closer. Lincoln giggles again. In an instant, Twinkles is in the boy’s lap as melting ice cream drips out of the bottom of the cone and oozes down the sides. Twinkles licks the boy’s nose and ears furiously as Lincoln breaks into jubilant laugher and almost sticks the remains of the soggy cone into the dog’s face. I can’t stop the giggle that bursts forth at the hilarious sight.

Suddenly, Mrs. Farley appears, No! No! You’re not to feed Twinkles ice cream. She snatches the dog up and hurries inside. Twinkles tries to break free but Mrs. Farley has a firm hold on him. She begins to scold, You are a very naughty dog. That child is bound to hurt you. And look at you; you’re covered in ice cream from one end to the other.

Oh dear, this could become a problem.

Lincoln sits dumbfounded for an instant and then returns to the soggy remains of his cone, dog hair, dog slobber and all.

That’s when I see Theo dashing from behind the cabins carrying a switch. Let’s play pirate, Lincoln. Go and find a switch, but make it a good one because it’ll be your trusty sword.

Lincoln is off. He drops the mess that once was a cone and bounds into the bushes in search of a sword with such enthusiasm that he doesn’t look where he’s going and stumbles over his own feet. Lincoln falls to the ground. Intent on the adventure, he picks himself up and continues his quest. As I witness his determination to find the best sword in the whole wide world in order to conquer the universe, or at least Theo, I admire his fortitude. Lincoln disappears behind the cabins.

As I go outside to witness the developments, the conquering hero emerges from behind the end cabin waving his new found weapon. Not noticing the slimy goo dripping off the stick nor his mud covered shorts or the leaves that cling to his sticky arms and legs, he advances toward the enemy, which happens to be his brother, with gusto.

Oh my goodness, he’s coming from where we throw the castoff water from the fish buckets. It appears the smell hasn’t fazed the pirate of Stillwater Lake one bit!

Linda looks up from the book she’s reading. Lincoln, get over here.

Intent on pursuing the adventure of conquering the universe or Theo, whichever comes first, he ignores his mother. Linda leaps from her chair and dashes after the boy.

No! No! Mommy, I have to get Theo.

What you have to get is cleaned up. She grabs Lincoln’s arm and pulls him in the direction of the lodge. Under protest, Lincoln drops his faithful sword as he’s dragged into the lodge.

* * *

I am at the side of the lodge watering the flower garden when Lincoln bounds across the lawn, I’m coming for you, Theo, he shouts.

My curiosity is piqued as Lincoln rushes toward the lake. But it seems that someone else’s curiosity is intrigued by the goings-on of the pirates as well when I notice Twinkles’ ears perk straight up. Sitting in Mrs. Farley’s lap as she doses, he looks up at his mistress. Knowing this is his chance to have some fun; he carefully