He seemed searching for a rhyme.

“Pagoda!  Pagoda!” laughed Betty.

“That is it!” exclaimed Mr Lagg.  “Thank you for the suggestion.  Let me see, now.  How would this do?

  “If you wish to drink of Lagg’s fine soda,
   Just take your seat in a Chinese pagoda!”

“Very good,” complimented Will.  “We’ll dispense with the pagoda if you will dispense the soda.”

“Ha!  Good again!  You are a punster, I see!”

Mr. Lagg laughed genially, and soon provided the party with bottles of deliciously cool soda, and straws through which to partake of it, glasses being voted too prosaic.

There came a protest from Paul, who was sharing the treat.

“I tan’t dit no sody!” he cried.  “It all bubbles up!”

“No wonder!  You are blowing down your straw.  Pull up on it, just as if you were whistling backwards,” said Mollie.

“Whistling backwards is a distinctly new way of expressing it,” commented Frank.

“I dot it!” cried the tot, as the level of his glass began to fall under his efforts—­ successful this time.

Then, having finished that, he fixed his big eyes on Mr. Lagg, and demanded: 

“Oo dot any tandy?”

“Candy!” cried the eccentric store keeper.  “Ha, I have a couplet about that.

  “If you would feel both fine and dandy,
   Just buy a pound of Lagg’s best candy!”

“That is irresistible!” exclaimed Will.  “Trot out a pound of the most select.”

“With pleasure,” said Mr. Lagg.

Merrily the young people wandered about the store, the girls buying some notions and trinkets they thought they would need on the trip, for Mr. Lagg did a general business.

“What are all you folks doing around here?” asked the storekeeper, when he had waited on some other customers.

“Getting in practice for a cruise,” answered Mollie.  “Betty, here, is the proud possessor of a lovely motor boat, and we are going to Rainbow Lake soon.”

“And camp on an island, too,” added Amy.  “I know I shall love that.”

“Any particular island?” asked Mr. Lagg.

“Elm is a nice one,” remarked Will “Why don’t you girls try that?  It isn’t as far as Triangle, and it’s nearly as large.  It’s wilder and prettier, too.”

“Know anything about Elm Island, Mr. Lagg?” asked Frank, as he inspected some fishing tackle.

“Well, yes, I might say I do,” and Mr. Lagg pursed up his lips.

“Is it a good place?”

“Oh, it’s good all right, but——­” and he hesitated.

“What is the matter?” demanded Betty quickly.  She thought she detected something strange in Mr. Lagg’s manner.

“Why, the only thing about it is that it’s haunted—­ there’s a ghost there,” and as he spoke the storekeeper slipped a generous slice of cheese on a cracker and munched it.

CHAPTER IX