talk about it now."

"But what did he say?" demanded Kate, who thought her present action ought to be governed in some measure by the words of the constable.

"He didn't say much; it is all right now. Come, jump into the boat. We haven't a moment to lose."

"I want to know what he said before I get any deeper into the mud," persisted Kate; but we are compelled to acknowledge that her scruples were mere worldly prudence, and were not called forth by the upbraidings of an awakened conscience.

"You can't back out now, Kate. I made it all right with Mr. Long," replied Fanny, with energy, as she drew the skiff up to the steps, ready for her more timid companion to embark. "Now, get in, and don't waste another instant in talking about nothing."

"You are keeping everything to yourself. If you don't tell me what Mr. Long wanted of you, I won't get into the boat. Was it about the money you found?" asked Kate.

"No; he didn't say a word about that. He only asked me why I was not at school."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him the teacher sent us down to get some green branches to put over the clock, for we were to have visitors at school this afternoon."

"Did he believe you?"

Kate laughed; she appreciated what she regarded as the joke of a clever deception; the wickedness of the act did not disturb her.

"Of course he believed me—why shouldn't he? He has gone up to ask Mrs. Green if I went to school."

"But he will find out all about it."

"No, he won't; besides, if he does, we shall be a mile off when he gets back here again."

"Didn't he say a word about the money you found?"

"Not a word, Kate. Now, jump in, or we shall certainly get caught. We shall have time enough to talk about these things when we get away from the pier."

Kate was satisfied, and stepped into the skiff. All her fears related to the money in the possession of her friend, which, she was almost certain, had been stolen. She was moralist enough to understand that even if the money had been found on the floor, as Fanny represented, it was just as much stolen as though it had been taken from Mr. Grant's pocket-book. Kate had not engaged in this theft, and she was not willing to bear any of the blame on account of it. If the crime had already been discovered, she did not wish to expose herself to the peril of helping to spend the money. According to Fanny's statement, nothing had been found out, and she got into the skiff.

Fanny had been among the boats a great deal during her residence at Woodville, and rowing and sailing were suited to her masculine taste. She was a girl of quick parts; her faculty of imitation was highly developed, and generally what she had seen done she could do herself. She could row cross-handed very well, and she had no difficulty in pulling the skiff out to the Greyhound's moorings. Kate stepped on board of the sail-boat, and Fanny, fastening the painter of the skiff at the stern, began to bustle around with as much confidence as though she had been a skipper ever since she left her cradle.

She had often sailed in the Greyhound with Ben and others, and she knew precisely what was to be done in order to get the boat under way. She understood how to move the tiller in order to make the craft go in a given direction, and had an indistinct idea of beating and tacking; but she was very far from being competent to manage a sailboat.

The stops were removed from the sails, under the direction of the adventurous Fanny, and the foresail hoisted. It was a more difficult matter to cast off the moorings, but their united strength accomplished the feat, and the Greyhound, released from the bonds which held her, immediately drifted to the shore, for her unskilful skipper had not trimmed the foresail so that it would draw.

"I thought you knew how to manage a boat," said Kate, contemptuously.

"So I do," replied Fanny, as she gathered up the fore-sheet, and trimmed the sail.

"What are you doing in here, then?"

"I only came in here to get a fair start," added the skipper, not at all disconcerted by the mishap.

"Folks don't generally run the boat ashore before they start," sneered Kate, who certainly had no confidence in the seamanship of the feminine skipper.

"That's the way they do it!" exclaimed Fanny, triumphantly, as the sail began to draw, and the boat moved off from the shore. "Now, we are all right. That's just the way I meant to make her go."

The wind came from the Woodville side of the river, but it was very light, and the Greyhound moved but slowly. Fanny was entirely satisfied with herself now, and was confident that she could manage any boat that ever floated. It was a very easy thing, she thought, and she did not see why folks made such a "fuss" about sailing a boat; anybody could do it, if they only thought they could. But the Greyhound did not move fast enough for her impatient temperament, and, against the remonstrances of her more prudent companion, she insisted upon setting the mainsail.

"Mr. Long may be after us soon, and we must get along as fast as we can," said she, as she took the throat halliard, and gave the peak to Kate. "Now, hoist away. We are as good sailors as any one need be."

The mainsail was set, and the Greyhound began to travel through the water pretty rapidly, much to the delight of Fanny. She had been deceived in regard to the force of the wind; under the lee of the shore, where it was obstructed by the bank, by the trees, and by the buildings, the breeze was very light: out in the middle of the river the wind was quite strong; but the boat had not yet begun to feel its full force.

"Now she goes beautifully!" exclaimed Fanny, as she observed the effect by the added sail.

"She goes very well; but don't you see how rough the water is out in the middle of the river?" replied Kate, rather anxiously, though she was not willing to acknowledge the full extent of her fears.

"That's nothing."

"But why don't you go down the river more, and keep out of that rough place?"

"I like the waves! It's splendid to hear them beating against the boat."

"It may be when you have a man in the boat with you," answered Kate, sceptically.

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid; but I think folks ought to be very careful when they don't know anything about boats."

"But I know all about boats. Don't you see how beautifully she goes? I wish she would go a little faster."

"She goes fast enough," said Kate, as she listened to the ripple of the waves against the bow.

"She might go a little faster; besides, we are in a hurry."

"We are going fast enough, Fan."

"The faster the better! I suppose, when Mr. Long goes over to the school and finds we are not there, he will come down to the pier after us. We want to be out of sight when he gets there."

"Why should he come after us? I thought you said it was all right," demanded Kate, nervously.

"He will go over to the school to find out whether the teacher sent us after the boughs."

"I wish I had not come," continued Kate, gloomily.

If she had known the whole truth, and understood the full extent of her bold companion's plans, she would have been still more dissatisfied with the situation.

"Here, Kate, you take the tiller a moment," said Fanny, as she rose from her seat in the stern-sheets.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Kate, nervously.

"I'm going to hoist the other sail."

"We don't want it hoisted. We are going fast enough."

"We can just as well go faster; and I want to get out of sight before Mr. Long sees us," replied Fanny, persuasively, though her bright eyes snapped with increasing lustre under the excitement of the moment.

"I won't touch the tiller; I say we go fast enough. You want to drown me—don't you?"

"If I drown you, I must drown myself—mustn't I?"

"I won't touch the tiller; I don't want the other sail hoisted," persisted