The bachelors called themselves 'The Syndicate.' The plan worked well, chiefly because of the fine air and the sunshine, the warm starry nights, and, above all, the witchery of the lake, which is to every man who has spent days and nights upon it like a mystical lady-love, ever changeful and ever charming.

Then, too, there was the contrast with the hot city; the sense of need fulfilled makes men good-natured.

The one servant of the establishment, an old man who made the beds and the dinners, was not a professional cook; the meals were often indifferent; yet the Syndicate did not quarrel among themselves.
Some outlet for temper perhaps was needful.

At any rate they had one outside quarrel with an old Welshman named Johns, a farmer of great importance in the place, who had sold them the land and tried, in their opinion, to cheat them afterwards about the boundaries.

Their united rage waxed hot against Johns, and he, on his side, did nothing to propitiate.