what's the matter with the thing," he declared. "It had ought to go. I've cranked it until I've got blisters on my hands."

"Maybe, if you put on the switch it will go," Walter observed.

Charley glared at him. "And you have been sitting there laughing in your sleeves while I've been working myself to death," he spluttered.

"Mr. Daniels wants us to find out such little things for ourselves," observed Walter, grinning.

Charley forced a smile. "Well, I'll let you find out a few things, yourself, while I rest."

"Is the entertainment over for the day?" queried one of the fishermen.

"No, it's just going to begin," Charley prophesied with a grin.

"Oh, I can start it all right," Walter declared, confidently. "Just watch me and I'll show you how."

He turned on the switch, rocked the fly wheel a couple of times, then threw it over with a quick jerk. The engine started with a sharp snapping like a quick fire gun.

"There, I've started her," he yelled, proudly, above the din.

"That is not the way she was built to run," shouted Charley, while a roar of laughter went up from the assembled fishermen, for, instead of going ahead, the "Dixie" had started astern full speed. Charley who was standing ready to cast off took a quick turn of the line around a cleat and stopped her in her backward career. "Stop!" he cried, "or she'll break the line."

But Walter was thoroughly bewildered and stood gazing helplessly at the popping machinery.

"Pour water on it, that's the way to stop it," jeered a fisherman.

"Throw your switch," Charley advised. Walter, recovering his wits, obeyed and the popping instantly ceased.

"Well, I made the engine go, anyway," he replied to Charley's jeers. "I'll get her going all right yet."

Again he threw the fly wheel only to have her rear back on the line.

"Don't tow the dock away," begged a fisherman. "We all live here. We don't want to lose our home."

"Tell you what to do, young fellow," advised another, "just change your rudder and put it on the other end."

Walter, very red in the face, threw off the switch.

"Throw the fly wheel over the other way and she'll go ahead," Charley said.

"Hump!" Walter grunted, as he realized his error, "why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Mr. Daniels wants us to find out such little things for ourselves," observed Charley, sweetly.

Walter laughed. "You're even with me now," he said. "Well, I guess, between us, we can learn to run her, but I guess we had better call it quits for to-day. It's getting late. Let's anchor her out for the night."

Charley agreed and they poled the launch away from the dock and cast the anchor, returning to the wharf in one of the skiffs. It was nearly dark when they entered the shack to find a most disagreeable surprise awaiting them.

CHAPTER IV.
THE WARNING.

Chris had started a brisk fire in the box of sand and was preparing to fry a big mess of fish which had fallen victims to his craft.

"Golly!" he exclaimed when the boys offered their assistance, "I doan want none ob you white chillens foolin' around an' spoilin' dese fish. If you-alls wants to help, jes' light up de lanterns an' sot de table."

Charley groped around, found the matches, and struck a light. "Why didn't you get more than one lantern, Walt?" he complained. "We will need four when we get to fishing."

"I bought four. They are hanging right there on the wall," his chum replied.

"There's only one here," Charley announced. "Are you sure you got four?"

"Of course," Walter replied. "Maybe some of us moved them, when we were fixing up the shack."

But a close search of the shack failed to reveal the missing lights.

"They have been stolen," Charley said, quietly. "We had better look and see if anything else has been taken."

But Walter was already looking over his purchases. "Nearly all our groceries are gone," he cried.

The band of chums gazed at each other in dismay.

"It must have been done while we were working with the launch," Charley said. "Chris, did you see any one go into the shack?"

"No, Massa Chas," the little negro confessed. "De fish was jes' naturally biting so fast dat I doan look around much."

"What shall we do about it?" Walter inquired.

"I don't see as we can do anything," said Charley, thoughtfully. "We will just have to grin and bear it and be more careful in the future. Of course, it was one of those fishermen who did it, there was no one else on the dock,—but we have no clue as to which was the guilty one and we can not accuse all of them."

"Wisely said, my lad," approved Captain Westfield, "all we can do is to keep quiet and watch out in the future. We evidently have some tough characters for neighbors. Let's not mourn and get downhearted, that won't bring the things back. Here Chris has got a good supper ready. Let's get at it and be cheerful."

The boys recognizing the wisdom of the old sailor's advice, and hiding their disappointment, they made merry over the crisp, tasty, fried fish, pancakes, and coffee that the little negro had prepared.

As soon as the supper things were cleared away, Captain Westfield produced his old worn, well-loved Bible and read the story of Christ with the discouraged fishermen, after which he prayed earnestly and with simple faith for the Lord's blessing upon them in the new life upon which they were about to enter.

Just as he concluded, there came the sound of shuffling footsteps outside, and a bit of rustling white paper was shoved in under the door of the shack.

Charley picked it up and glanced at the ill-written scrawl it contained. With an angry gleam in his eyes, he flung open the door and peeped outside. The retreating footsteps had died away, and he could distinguish nothing in the inky darkness but the glimmering lights in the other shacks.

He closed and fastened the door carefully.

"What was it?" Walter asked, noting the grim, set look on his chum's face.

"Nothing much," Charley replied with a meaning glance. "I'll tell you about it later."

As soon as Chris, who was always early to bed, was snoring peacefully on his blanket, Charley produced the scrap of paper.

"What do you think of that?" he asked, briefly.

Walter and the captain bent their heads over the almost illegible scrawl.

Walter looked up from the paper, his face flushed with anger. "It's an outrage!" he cried. "Why I'd die first."

"Read it to me, Walt," requested the Captain. "I can't make out that writing."

Walter obeyed.