Later that morning, as he and his Dad started to get all their fishing gear together, Charles couldn’t stop thinking about how Beansie had looked when he left their campsite. His droopy shoulders, his red-rimmed eyes: It was clear that Beansie was very sad and upset. So why didn’t he just change his mind? Beansie had petted Stella and whispered to her, holding her up to his cheek and gazing into her black button eyes. Then he’d handed her to Charles. He cleared his throat. “Well, those fallen spruce trees on the Lake Trail aren’t going to cut themselves up.” He hoisted a big pack basket onto his back. “Hope the sound of my chainsaw won’t bother you too much,” he croaked. Then he hiked off, headed for the trails on the far side of the lake.

“Why won’t Beansie change his mind?” Charles asked his dad as they walked down to the lake. “He loves Stella as much as Frank does.”

“I guess Frank is right about him being stubborn,” Dad said. “He really does think that he’s doing the right thing for Stella. He just doesn’t believe that he and Frank can take care of her well enough.”

“Well, he’s wrong.” Charles kicked at a pinecone. “Isn’t he, Stella?” He looked down at the fluffy white puppy prancing by his side. She looked back at him and wagged her tail, opening her mouth in a sweet little doggy grin.

It was great to see my people this morning! I knew they still loved me.

Charles’s throat closed up and he felt tears come to his eyes. Stella was the best. He gave her a thumbs-up. “Good girl,” he said. “You’re a good girl.”

Stella really was a good girl. At the lake, she knew just what to do when Dad got the canoe positioned next to the dock: She jumped right in and settled herself in the very center of the boat. Charles helped the Bean get in; then he climbed carefully in himself. Finally, Dad climbed in and they paddled off, with Charles up front and Dad in back.

The air was crisp, but the sun was warm on Charles’s shoulders. There wasn’t another boat on the whole lake; it was like the day belonged to them. Charles dug his paddle into the water, stroking on one side and then on the other. His muscles hurt, but in a good way. He knew that his job was to keep the canoe moving through the water; Dad’s job, in back, was to steer it.

They were halfway across the lake when Charles heard Beansie’s chainsaw start up. Its loud whine echoed over the water. Charles turned to see if Stella heard anything, but she was looking the other way. He tried to see where Beansie was, but the trees grew too thickly on that side of the lake. From the map he knew that there was a lean-to over there called Aspen, which was on the Lake Trail near the rocky shore. He could see its roof, but not much else.

Dad steered them neatly into the little cove where the water lilies lay thick on the water’s surface. Their round pads floated serenely, green against the blue of the lake. “Finally!” Dad said when they were floating amid the pads. “I just know this place is full of big bass.”

Carefully, making sure to keep his weight centered so the canoe would not tip over, Charles turned around in his seat. Now he was facing his dad. Stella and the Bean, too. “Hi, good girl,” he said, giving Stella a thumbs-up and a head scratch.

Dad handed the Bean his plastic rod, then opened his tackle box. “No more worms,” he said. “For bass, we use these lures.” He held up something that looked a bit like a gummy worm, with a hook attached. He passed Charles his rod, then got his own ready. “Look out, bass!” he said as he cast a line into the lily pads.

“Look out, bass,” the Bean echoed, letting his own line droop over the canoe’s side.

Charles cast his line and watched his bobber land between two lily pads. Then he sat up straight, watching it closely. If it moved even a little bit, he might have a bite. Charles and his dad always did catch-and-release fishing, which meant that after they caught a fish, they took the hook out and let it go, to swim and eat and grow even bigger. Charles knew Dad would talk him through what to do next, but he rehearsed the steps in his head anyway: First, it was good to land a fish — that is, catch it — as quickly as you could. Letting the fish fight for too long would tire it out, and it would not do as well when you let it go.

Next, it was important to keep the fish in the water. Instead of bringing it into the canoe, you should hold the fish in the water, maybe in a net, while you gently worked the hook out. Finally, you were supposed to hold the fish in the water for another moment, so it could recover, before you let it swim off. All of that was what you did if you caught a fish. So far, Charles wasn’t even feeling a nibble.

“I got a bite!” yelled the Bean, happily jerking his rod all around. He loved to say that, even though no fish ever nibbled at his plastic hook.

“All right,” said Dad. He scooped with the net, pretending to catch the fish on the Bean’s line. “Wow! This guy must weigh a million pounds, at least.”

The Bean laughed his googly laugh. “A billion gillion zillion!” he shouted.

Charles laughed, too. Then, suddenly, he stopped laughing. “Dad,” he said. “I really do have a bite. And I think it’s a big one.” He watched the bobber sink and rise, sink and rise, as the fish tugged on the hook. His heart pounded.

Dad inched forward in the canoe, net in hand. “Reel him in slowly,” he said. “Nice and even, that’s right.”

Charles saw the bobber moving toward him as he pulled in his line. Then he saw the fish. It slid through the water, shiny gray with a lighter cream-colored belly and as long as Charles’s arm. His heart beat even harder as the fish came closer.

“Nice one,” said Dad. “Hey, what’s that?” he cocked his head. “Do I hear yelling?”

Charles swiveled his head toward shore to listen. It was Frank’s high voice calling Beansie’s name. “Beansie! Where are you?” she yelled. Charles could see her, standing on the dock with Emma next to her.

Charles and Dad looked at each other, and Charles could tell that Dad was thinking the same thing he was. They had not heard Beansie’s chainsaw for a while. Was the old man in trouble?

Dad squinted toward the dock. “They’re getting into a canoe,” he said. “Good idea. It’s the quickest way to the other side of the lake.” He helped Charles reel in the fish, then held it in the water while he worked the hook out quickly. After a moment, he let the fish swim off. Charles watched it go. That was the biggest fish he had ever caught, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it.

Dad picked up his paddle. “Paddle hard! We’ll meet up with them and get over there fast.”

Charles turned around to face front again and dug his paddle into the lake’s still waters, feeling the burn in his shoulders. The fish didn’t matter at all, not if Beansie was in trouble. He watched the other canoe move toward them, closer and closer, until he could see Emma in the front, paddling even harder than he was paddling, and Frank in the back, steering them straight across the lake. Soon the two canoes were next to each other, moving quickly together toward the far shore and Aspen, the lean-to.

“I’m worried,” Frank said to Dad. She was panting a little from the hard work of paddling. “I didn’t notice the quiet until Emma mentioned it. But he expected to be working all day. He can’t be finished yet. Why aren’t we hearing the chainsaw?”

“We’ll find him,” Dad said. “Don’t worry.”

“We had to leave Buddy tied up at the dock,” said Frank. “He just wouldn’t get in the canoe. I’m so sorry.”

Dad waved a hand. “The only thing that matters right now is finding Beansie. Buddy will be fine.”

Moments later, Charles was jumping out of the canoe and helping pull it up onto a small, sandy beach. He helped the Bean and Stella climb out.

“Beansie!” Frank called as she stepped out of the other canoe with Emma’s help. “Beansie, where are you?” Stella ran to her, and Frank bent to hug the small dog.

“Let’s all yell together on the count of three,” suggested Dad. “One … two … three.”

“BEANSIE!” they all yelled.

Then they stood silently, listening. It was so quiet at the lake. Charles heard a bird chirping and the sound of a chipmunk rustling through leaves. He did not hear Beansie.

He looked at Stella. She looked up at him. “Stella,” he said. “Can you find Beansie?”

Stella stared at him as if she did not understand.

Then Frank stepped up. “Find Beansie, Stella,” she said. She held out both hands, palms up. “Where’s Beansie?”

Stella’s tail began to wag.

I know how to play this game!

The fluffy white puppy put her nose to the ground and sniffed. Then she began to run, pulling Charles after her. She scurried up the sandy beach so fast he could hardly keep up, hanging on to her leash. He looked back and saw that everyone was following them. The Bean seemed to think it was a game, too, but Dad and Frank and Emma looked very serious.

Stella dragged Charles up a dirt path that wound between two boulders and entered a forest of tall pines. There, in a clearing, lay Beansie — his leg trapped beneath a fallen tree.