"Ay, ay!"

The Butterflies clapped their hands vigorously, in token of their approbation of the pledge, and Tony promised the same thing for his club.

"Now we are ready," added Frank. "Keep perfectly cool, and mind all I have said. Ready!"

Uncle Ben stood in the bow of the Sylph, with a burning slow match in his hand, ready to discharge the cannon which was to be the signal for starting. It was a moment of intense excitement, not only to the crews of the boats, but to hundreds of spectators on the shore.

It was undeniably true that the Zephyrs, in spite of the warnings which Frank had given them, were very much excited, and various were the expedients which the boys used to calm their agitation, or at least to conceal it. But it was also true that the Butterflies were much more excited. Discipline and experience had not schooled them in the art of "being mere machines," and they found it much more difficult than the Zephyrs to subdue their troublesome emotions.

The eventful moment had come. The oarsmen were bent forward ready to strike the first stroke, and the coxswains were leaning back ready to time the movement. Captain Sedley was gazing intently at the dial of his "second indicator," prepared to give Uncle Ben the word to fire.

"Ready, Ben—fire!"

Bang! went the cannon.

"Pull!" shouted Frank and Tony in the same breath.

Fortunately every oarsman in both boats hit the stroke exactly, and away leaped the gallant barks.

As Frank had deemed it probable, the Butterfly shot a length ahead of her rival after pulling a few strokes; but though the noise of the oars informed his crew of their relative positions, not an eye was turned from him, not a muscle yielded in the face of the dispiriting fact, and not a member quickened his stroke in order to retrieve the lost ground. Even Tim Bunker, who was supposed to have more feeling in regard to the race than the others, maintained an admirable self-possession. However much the hearts of the crew beat with agitation, they were outwardly as cool as though the Butterfly had been a mile behind them.

It is true, some of the Zephyrs, as they continued to gaze at Frank's calm and immovable features, wondered that he did not quicken the stroke; but no one for an instant lost confidence in him. "Frank knew what he was about." This was the sentiment that prevailed, and each member looked out for himself, leaving all the rest to him.

The Butterflies were quickening their stroke every moment, and consequently were continuing to increase the distance between the two boats. Every muscle was strained to its utmost tension. Every particle of strength was laid out, until Tony, fearful that some of the weaker ones might "make a slip," dared require no more of them. But they were already more than two boats' lengths ahead of their rival, and he had everything to hope.

Still the Zephyr pulled that same steady stroke. As yet she had made no extraordinary exertion. Her crew were still fresh and vigorous, while those of her rival, though she was every moment gaining upon her, were taxing their strength to the utmost.

They rounded the stake boat, which had been placed nearly opposite the mouth of the Rippleton River, and the Butterfly was still three lengths ahead. They had begun upon the last two miles of the race. Though the Zephyr still pursued her former tactics, her rival was no longer able to gain upon her. The latter had thus far done her best, and for the next half mile the boats maintained the same relative positions.

Frank was still unmoved, and there was some inward grumbling among his crew. An expression of deep anxiety had begun to supplant the look of hope and confidence they had worn, and some of them were provoked to a doubt whether Frank, in the generosity of his nature, was not intending to let Tony bear off the honors.

"Come, Frank, let her have, now!" said Tim, who could no longer restrain his impatience.

"Silence! Not a word!" said the self-possessed coxswain.

It was in the "order of the day" that no member should speak during the race; and none did, except Tim, and he could easily have been pardoned under the circumstances.

Not yet did Frank quicken the stroke of the Zephyr, though at the end of the next half mile she was only two boats' lengths astern of her competitor, which had lost this distance by the exhaustion of her crew. They had pulled three miles with the expenditure of all their strength. They lacked the power of endurance, which could only be obtained by long practice. "It is the last pound that breaks the camel's back;" and it was so with them. With a little less exertion they might have preserved some portion of their vigor for the final struggle, which was yet to come.

They had begun upon the last mile. The crew of the Butterfly were as confident of winning the race as though the laurel of victory had already been awarded to them; and though their backs ached and their arms were nearly numb, a smile of triumph rested on their faces.

"Now for the tug of war," said Frank, in a low, subdued tone, loud enough to be heard by all his crew, but so gentle as not to create any of that dangerous excitement which is sometimes the ruin of the best laid plans.

As he spoke the motions of his body became a little quicker, and gradually increased in rapidity till the stroke was as quick as was consistent with perfect precision. The result of this greater expenditure of power was instantly observed, and at the end of the next quarter of a mile the boats were side by side again.

"They are beating us!" said Tony, in a whisper. "Dip a little deeper—pull strong!"

The exciting moment of the race had come. The spectators on the shore gazed with breathless interest upon the spectacle, unable, though "Zephyr stock was up," to determine the result.

Not a muscle in Frank's face moved, and steadily and anxiously his crew watched and followed his movements.

"Steady!" said he, in his low, impressive tone, as he quickened a trifle more the stroke of the crew.

The Butterflies were "used up," incapable of making that vigorous effort which might have carried them in ahead of the Zephyr.

"A little deeper," continued Frank. "Now for it!"

As he spoke, with a sudden flash of energy he drove his oarsmen to their utmost speed and strength, and the Zephyr shot by the judges' boat full a length and a half ahead of the Butterfly.

"Cease—rowing!" said he. "Ready—up!"

The Butterfly came in scarcely an instant behind, and her oars were poised in air, like those of her rival.

A long and animating shout rang along the shore, when the result of the race was apparent, and the band struck up "See the conquering hero comes."



CHAPTER IX.

LITTLE PAUL.

"You have won the race, Frank, and I congratulate you," said Tony Weston, as the Butterfly came alongside the Zephyr.

"Thank you, Tony; that is noble and generous," replied Frank.

"But it is the feeling in our club—isn't it, fellows?"

"Ay, ay, that it is!" shouted Little Paul. "Let us give them three cheers, to show the folks on shore that there are no hard feelings."

The cheers were given lustily—at least, as lustily as the exhausted condition of the Butterflies would permit. Each member of the defeated club seemed to feel it his duty to banish even the semblance of envy; and it was pleasant to observe how admirably they succeeded.

I do not wish my young readers to suppose that Tony's crew felt no disappointment at the result; only that there were no hard feelings, no petty jealousy. They had confidently expected to win the race, even up to the last quarter of a mile of the course; and to have that hope suddenly dashed down, to be beaten when they felt sure of being the victors, was regarded as no trivial misfortune. But so thoroughly had Tony schooled them in the necessity of keeping down any ill will, that I am sure there was not a hard feeling in the club. Perhaps they displayed more disinterestedness in their conduct after the race than they really felt. If they did, it was no great harm, for their motives were good, and they were all struggling to feel what their words and their actions expressed.

"Zephyr, ahoy!" hailed Mr. Hyde, from the Sylph.

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"The prize is ready for the winner."

The oars were dropped into the water again, and the Zephyr pulled up to the judges' boat.

"You have won the prize handsomely, Frank, and it affords me great pleasure to present it to you," said Mr. Hyde, as he handed him a purse containing the prize. "After the noble expressions of kindness on the part of your rival, I am sure the award will awaken no feeling of exultation in the minds of the Zephyrs, and none of envy in the Butterflies. I congratulate you on your victory."

Frank bowed, and thanked the schoolmaster for his hopeful words; and the Butterflies gave three cheers again as he took the prize. The Zephyr was then brought alongside her late rival.

"Starboard oars—up!" said Frank.

"Larboard oars—up!" added Tony.

"What now, I wonder?" queried Fred Harper.

"Forward oarsman, step aboard the Butterfly," continued Frank.

"Forward oarsman, step aboard the Zephyr," said Tony.

Then the next member in each boat was passed over to the other, and so on, till the whole starboard side of the Zephyr was manned by Butterflies, and the larboard side of the Butterfly by Zephyrs.

"Ready—up!" said the coxswains, as they proceeded to get under way again.

Thus, with the two clubs fraternally mingled, they slowly pulled towards the nearest shore, while the band played its sweetest strains. The spectators still lingered; and as the boats neared the land, they were greeted with repeated cheers. Then, side by side, they pulled slowly along the shore, within a few rods of the lake's bank, till they reach the Butterflies' house, where they all landed.

And thus ended the famous boat race, over which the boys had been thinking by day and dreaming by night for several weeks. The occasion had passed; and if it was productive of any evil effects in the minds of those who engaged in it, they were more than balanced by the excellent discipline it afforded. They had learned to look without envy upon those whom superior skill or good fortune had favored, and to feel kindly towards those over whom they had won a victory. It was a lesson which they would all need in the great world, where many a race is run, and where the conqueror is not always gentle towards the conquered—where defeat generates ill-will, envy, and hatred.

"A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another," said Jesus—not only love one another when the sky is clear, and the waters are smooth, but when the clouds threaten, and the stormy sea lashes with its fury; not only when the arm of friendship and kindness holds us up, but when all hearts seem cold, when all hands are closed, and all faces frown upon us. It was this divine command that the circumstances of the boat race tended to exemplify; and I am sure that both the conquerors and the conquered were better prepared for the duty of life than if they had had no such experience.

I do not mean to say that every boat race is a good thing, most especially when it is made to be a gambling speculation by staking money on the result—only that this one was, because those who conducted it made it subservient to the moral progress of the boys.

"Well, Frank, I am glad you won the race," said Tony, with a smile which testified to his sincerity. "Fortune favored us at the bridge, and gave us the opportunity of winning the honors."

"And the profits too, Tony. Fifty dollars is nothing to us now," added Fred, with a laugh.

"Thank you, Tony," replied Frank. "You are so noble that you almost make me regret we won. But, my dear fellow, you have won a greater victory in your own heart. I can envy you the possession of such noble feelings."

"Pooh, Frank!"

"I am sure I don't value the victory, because it has been won over you."

"We trained ourselves to feel right about the matter whichever way the race went."

"Your heart is so near right that you don't need much training. But it is time for us to return home."

"How about that picnic on the first of May?"

"My father has consented to it."

"So have our folks; we will have a glorious time of it. On Saturday afternoon, if you say so we will visit Center Island, and set the May pole."

"Agreed."

"But, Frank, school keeps—don't it?"

"Whew! does it?"

"It did last year; but the committee have talked of giving us the day. I hope they will. Ask your father; he is one of them."

"I will. We can get the point settled before Saturday."

"I guess so."

"All aboard!"

The Zephyrs hastened on board, and in a few minutes were out of sight. The Butterfly was hauled into her berth, everything was made "snug" and tidy, and the boys hastened to their several homes. Of course it was not easy for them to drive out of their minds the exciting events of the day, and while all of them, except Tony, were sorry they had lost the race, they had much to console them. They had won a victory over themselves; and the consciousness of this triumph compensated for their disappointment. Each of them, adopting the sentiment of their heroic young leader, thought what a good fellow Frank Sedley was, and tried to feel glad that he had won.

There was one of them, however, who did not think much about it after he separated from his companions. Other considerations claimed his attention; and before he reached his humble home, the race was banished from his mind. He had a sick father, and the family had hard work to get along. This was Little Paul.

His mother insisted upon sending him to school while there was anything left to procure the necessaries of life; and as there was little for him to do at home, he was allowed to join the club, because his parents knew how much he loved the sports on the lake, and that nothing but good influences would be exerted upon him in the association.

Paul Munroe was a good boy, in every sense of the word; and though he had never been able to do much for his parents, they regarded him none the less as one of their choicest blessings. As Tony expressed it, Little Paul's heart was in the right place; and it was a big heart, full of warm blood.

His father sat in an easy-chair by the kitchen stove as he entered, and a smile played upon his pale blue lips as his eyes met the glance of his loving son.

"Well, Paul, did you win the race?" he asked, in feeble tones.

"No, father; the Zephyrs beat. Frank Sedley rather outgeneraled Tony, and his crew were more used to pulling than we. But Frank is a first-rate fellow."

"Isn't Tony?"

"That he is! They are both first-rate fellows; I don't know where there are two other such fellows in the world."

"You are right, Paul; they are good boys, and we shall be sorry to take you away from them."

Little Paul looked inquiringly at his father. He had more than once begged to be allowed to work in the Rippleton factories, that he might earn something towards supporting the family; but his parents would never consent to take him away from school and confine him in the noisy, dusty rooms of the mills. His father's words suggested the idea that they had consented to his request, and that he was to be allowed to work for a living.

"'Squire Chase has been here to-day," added Mr. Munroe, sadly.

"Has he? What did he say?" asked Paul, a shade of anxiety gathering upon his fine, manly face.

"We must leave our house, my son," replied the father, with a sigh.

"Won't he wait?"

"No."

"How did he act while he was here?"

"He was very harsh and unfeeling."

"The villain!" exclaimed Paul, with emphasis, as his check reddened with indignation.

"He is a hard man, Paul; but reproaches are of no use. The note is due on the first of May; I cannot pay it, so we must leave the house."

"Where are we to go, father?"

"Your grandfather, who has a large farm in Maine, has written for me to come there; and your mother and I have decided to go."

Paul looked sad at the thought of leaving the pleasant scenes of his early life, and bidding farewell to his cherished friends; but there was no help for it, and he cheerfully yielded to the necessity. It was of no use to think of moving the heart of 'Squire Chase—it was cold, hard, and impenetrable. He was a close-fisted lawyer, who had made a handsome fortune in the city by taking advantage of the distresses of others, and it was not likely that he, having thus conquered all the nobler impulses of his nature, would have any sympathy for Mr. Munroe in his unfortunate condition.

The poor man had bought the little place he occupied a few years before for seven hundred dollars—paying two hundred down, and giving his note, secured by a mortgage, for the rest. The person of whom he had purchased the place, whose lands joined it, had sold his estate to 'Squire Chase, to whom, also, he had transferred the mortgage. The retired lawyer was not content to remain quiet in his new home, and there repent of his many sins, but immediately got up an immense land speculation, by which he hoped to build a village on his grounds, and thus make another fortune.

Mr. Munroe's little place was in his way. He wanted to run a road over the spot where the house was located, and had proposed to buy it and the land upon which it stood. He offered seven hundred and fifty dollars for it; but it was now worth nine hundred, and Mr. Munroe refused the offer. The 'Squire was angry at the refusal, and from that time used all the means in his power to persecute his poor neighbor.

Then sickness paralyzed the arm of Mr. Munroe, and he could no longer work. The money he had saved to pay the note when it should become due was expended in supporting his family. With utter ruin staring him full in the face, he sent for 'Squire Chase, and consented to his offer; but the malicious wretch would not give even that now; and the land was so situated as to be of but little value except to the owner of the Chase estate. The 'Squire was a bad neighbor, and no one wanted to get near him; so that Mr. Munroe could not sell to any other person.

The crafty lawyer knew that the poor man was fully in his power, and he determined to punish him, even to his ruin. He hated him because he was an honest, good man; because his life, even in his humbler sphere, was a constant reproach to him. The note would be due on the first of May, and he had determined to take possession in virtue of the mortgage.

Poor Paul shed many bitter tears upon his pillow that night; and from the depths of his gentle heart he prayed that God would be very near to his father and mother in the trials and sorrows that were before them.



CHAPTER X.

A UNANIMOUS VOTE.

On the following day Little Paul was missed at school, and some anxiety was felt by his companions concerning him. It was feared that the exertion of the race had proved too great for him, and that he was too ill to come out. All the other boys appeared as usual, and none of them seemed to be the worse for the violent exercise they had taken.

Before night, however, they learned that Little Paul was quite well, and had been detained at home to assist his mother. This intelligence removed their anxiety, and their fears lest boat racing should be deemed an improper recreation, and dangerous to the health of the boys. Friday and Saturday passed, and he did not appear at school; but it was said that his mother was very busy, and nothing was thought of the circumstance.

On Saturday afternoon the Butterfly club had assembled in their hall, and were talking over the affairs of the association until the time appointed for the excursion to Center Island. Little Paul had not come yet, and the boys began to fear that they should be obliged to make the excursion with only five oars on one side.

"What do you suppose is the reason?" asked Dick Chester.

"I have no idea; I hope nothing has happened, for Little Paul has not been absent from school before this season," replied Tony.

"I hope not," added Henry Brown. "Suppose we send a committee to inquire after him."

This was deemed an excellent suggestion, and Henry and Dick were immediately appointed a committee of two, by the "chair," to attend to the matter. They departed upon their mission, and after the boys had wondered a while longer what kept Paul away, another topic was brought up—a matter which was of the deepest interest to the young boatmen, and which had claimed their attention during all their leisure moments for several days.

I say their leisure moments; for the affairs of the club were not permitted to interfere with any of the usual duties of the members. At home and at school, it was required that everything should be done well and done properly. As may be supposed, this was not an easy matter for boys whose heads were full of boats and boating; and about once a week the coxswains found it advisable to read a lecture on the necessity of banishing play during work hours. "Whatsoever thy hands find to do, do it with all thy might," was a text so often repeated that it had virtually become one of the articles of the constitution.

The boys felt the necessity of following this precept. They realized enough of the law of cause and effect to be aware that, if their home and school duties were neglected, or slovenly done, boating would soon obtain a bad reputation; so both parents and teacher found that the clubs were a great help rather than a hindrance in the performance of their several functions.

So strongly were the Zephyrs impressed with the necessity of not permitting the club to interfere with home and school duties, that, at the latter part of their first season, they had established a rule by which any member who wilfully neglected his duties should be, for a certain time, excluded from the club. And this rule was not a dead letter. One Wednesday forenoon Charles Hardy had wasted his time in school, and failed in his lessons. On his slate was found a drawing of a club boat, manned by certain ill-looking caricatures, which explained the cause of the defection. An excursion had been planned for that afternoon, and when Charles presented himself at the boat-house, he was politely informed that he could not go. In vain he pleaded; Fred Harper, who was coxswain at the time, was very civil and very gentle, but he was inflexible. And the culprit had the satisfaction of sitting upon a rock on shore, and seeing what a fine time the fellows were having.

The effect was decidedly salutary, and another case of such discipline did not again occur. The boys, zealous to keep their favorite sport in good repute, adopted the regulation for the present year, in both clubs. Without such precautions as these it was plain that boating would soon become a nuisance, which neither parents nor teachers would tolerate. Therefore the members of the clubs made it a point to keep their "voyages," their plans and schemes, out of their minds at times when their heads should be filled with, other matters. It was astonishing to what an extent they succeeded; and boys would often be surprised to see how well they can do, if they would only set about it earnestly and with a determination to succeed.

The notable scheme which just now engrossed the attention of the Butterflies was no less than the establishment of a "fleet of boats" upon the lake. The dream of half a dozen boats, under command of Commodore Frank Sedley, maneuvering on the water, performing beautiful evolutions, and doing a hundred things which they could not then define, was so pleasant, so fascinating, that they could not easily give it up.

There would be the commodore in his "flag boat," signalizing the fleet, now bidding them pull in "close order," now ordering a boat out on service, and now sending one to examine a bay or a harbor. And then, if they could only get leave to explore Rippleton River, how the commander of the squadron would send out a small craft to sound ahead of them, and to buoy off the rocks and shoals, and how the people on the banks of the stream would stare when they saw them moving in sections against the sluggish current! Ah, a fleet of boats was such a brilliant ideal, that I will venture to say more than one of the boys lay awake nights to think about it.

I will not attempt to tell my young friends all the queer fancies concerning the squadron in which they indulged. They were essentially air castles, very beautiful structures, it is true, but as yet they rested only on the clouds. But the means of realizing this magnificent ideal was within their grasp. They had the money to buy the boats, and the only question was, whether George Weston, the "director" of the club, would permit the purchase.

"What have you done about the fleet, Tony?" asked Joseph Hooper.

"I have spoken to my brother about it," replied Tony, with a smile.

"What did he say?"

"He had no objection."

"Hurrah! We shall have the fleet then! And Tony, we shall go in for having you commodore part of the time."

"That we will!" echoed half a dozen voices.

"You would make as good a commodore as Frank," added Joseph.

"I guess not," answered Tony, modestly. "Didn't you see how slick Frank beat us in the race? If I had followed his tactics, we might have stood some chance, at least."

"Some chance! Didn't we keep ahead of him till we had got almost home?"

"Yes; but that was a part of Frank's tactics. He let us get tired out, and then beat us. But we haven't got the fleet yet, fellows, and we are a pack of fools to count the chickens before they are hatched."

"You said George has no objections," replied Joseph, glancing anxiously at Tony.

"He has not, but he wants to consult Captain Sedley before he consents."

The boys looked a little disconcerted at this intelligence, and a momentary silence ensued.

"Do you think he will object, Tony?" asked one.

"I am pretty sure he will not."

"Have you said anything to Frank about it?"

"Yes; and he says the Zephyrs will put their money with ours, if we get the fleet."

"Hurrah! I know his father will consent!"

"I have even got a hint from him that he should not object," added Tony, very quietly.

"That is glorious! We shall certainly have the fleet then!" shouted Joseph Hooper.

"I am pretty sure there will be no trouble about it. Almost everybody is willing to admit now that the clubs are a good thing; that they keep the fellows out of mischief, and stimulate them to do their duty at home and at school. So much for our strict regulations. If we can get more boats, and form more clubs, everybody concerned will be the better for it."

"That's the idea."

"We can get four small boats for our money—can't we?" asked one of the boys.

"Frank thought we had better get different sized boats," replied Tony.

"For different kinds of service," added Joseph, demurely.

"Say, one eight-oar boat, one six-oar, and two four-oar," said Tony.

"That would be first rate! Then we could take in twenty-two fellows."

"Twenty-three; the commodore would not be the coxswain of any boat, but command the whole."

The boys grew so nervous and excited during this fine discussion, that they could hardly keep their seats. In imagination the fleet was already afloat, and the broad pennant of Commodore Sedley was flying on board the Zephyr.

"How long before we can get the boats, Tony?" asked a little fellow, his eyes snapping with delight at the glorious anticipation.

"Perhaps they can be bought ready made. We need not wait for new ones. In a few weeks, at least before vacation—— Hallo, Paul! I am glad you have come."

Little Paul looked very sad as he entered Butterfly Hall. With a faint smile he received the greetings of his friends.

"All aboard!" shouted Tony, as he rose front his chair. "You haven't got your uniform on, Paul."

"I can't go with you, Tony," replied Little Paul, in a gloomy tone.

"Not go with us! Why not? What is the matter?"

"I must leave the club too," he added, in a husky voice.

"Leave the club!"

"We are going to move Down East."

"That's too bad!"

All the boys gathered round Little Paul, and there was a troubled look upon their countenances.

"We cannot stay here any longer," continued the poor boy, as he dashed a tear from his eye.

It was evident to all that some misfortune had overtaken the Munroe family, and Little Paul's sorrows excited the deepest interest and sympathy.

Without any solicitation on the part of his companions, the little fellow told them the story of his father's trials, and the reason why he was compelled to leave Rippleton.

"When is the money due, Paul?" asked Tony.

"On the first of May. My father has no money end he cannot pay the note."

"How much did you say it was?"

"Five hundred dollars. It is a great sum for us."

"My father says 'Squire Chase is not any better than he ought to be," added Dick Chester, who had returned with Little Paul.

"He is a very hard man," replied Paul. "But I must go home again. I shall see you before I leave town;" and the poor fellow turned away to hide his tears.

"Poor Little Paul!" said Tony, when he had gone.

"How I pity him!" added Henry Brown.

"So do I," reiterated Joseph Hooper.

"How much do you pity him, fellows?" asked Tony, seating himself in his arm-chair.

"So much that we would help him if we could," answered Henry.

"You can help him."

A deep silence ensued.

"Have you the nerve to make a great sacrifice, Butterflies?" exclaimed Tony with energy.

"We have."

"I move you, Mr. Chairman, that our four hundred dollars be applied to the relief of Little Paul's father," said Henry Brown, catching Tony's idea.

"Second the motion," added Dick Chester, promptly.

"Bravo!" shouted Tony, slapping the table with his fist. "That's what I call noble! But before we do it, just think what a fine thing the fleet would be. It is a great sacrifice."

"Question!" called Joseph Hooper.

"Think well, fellows," said Tony. "Any remarks upon the subject will be in order. It is a great question, and ought not to be hastily decided."

"Question!" shouted the whole club, wildly.

"Those in favor of applying the four hundred dollars to the relief of Mr. Munroe will signify it," said Tony.

"All up!"

"It is a unanimous vote!"



CHAPTER XI.

BETTER TO GIVE THAN RECEIVE.

"All aboard!" shouted Tony, as soon as he had declared the vote: and the boys hurried into the boat to be in readiness to join the Zephyr, which was already upon the lake.

Tony's spirits were unusually buoyant. The sympathy and co-operation of the club in regard to Little Paul's father was in the highest degree grateful to his feelings. Perhaps his companions did not so cheerfully resign the project of the fleet; perhaps they had acted upon the impulse of the moment; but they were all to experience the benefit of doing a good deed, and sacrificing their own gratification for the happiness of others. Tony felt better for the sacrifice they had made, and probably the rest of them shared his feelings. He was satisfied that they did not fully realize what they had done, and with the determination to take a fit opportunity to talk over the matter with them, he took his place in the boat.

The Zephyrs were laying on their oars, waiting for the Butterfly when she backed out of the boat house.

"You are late, Tony, which is rather odd for you," said Frank.

"We had a little business to attend to, which detained us," replied Tony; "and while we are here we may as well tell you about it. We have voted our money away."

"For the fleet?"

"No; we have given that up."

"Indeed! Given it up?" exclaimed Frank, not a little surprised at this declaration.

"Fact, Frank!"

"Something new has turned up, then?"

"Let us lash boats to keep us from drifting apart, and I will tell you all about it."

The two boats were fastened together fore and aft, and Tony proceeded to tell the story of Little Paul's father. He spoke loud enough for all the Zephyrs to hear him, and as his heart warmed towards Mr. Munroe in his misfortunes, his eyes dilated, and his gestures were as apt and energetic as though he had been an orator all his lifetime.

"I see what you have done with your money," said Frank, as the speaker paused at the close of the narrative. "It was like you, Tony—noble and generous!"

"We gave all our money for the relief of Mr. Munroe; but I didn't even suggest the thing to the fellows. Henry Brown made the motion, and it was a unanimous vote."

"Bravo, Butterflies!"

"Have you given up the fleet?" asked Tim Bunker, whose face was the only one which did not glow with satisfaction.

"Yes."

"There is more fun in helping a poor man out of trouble than in working a fleet," added Henry Brown.

"So I say," put in Dick Chester.

"Humph!" grunted Tim.

"But, Tony, you said the note was five hundred dollars—didn't you?" asked Frank.

"I did."

"And you have only four hundred?"

"That's all;" and Tony's eyes rekindled with delight at the anticipation of what the Zephyrs would do.

"You hear that, fellows."

"Would a motion be in order now?" asked Charles Hardy.

"Hold your tongue, you fool!" said Tim Bunker, in a low tone. "We can get another boat with our money, and you shall be coxswain of it."

Charles looked at him.

"A motion would be in order; at least we can make it in order," replied Frank.

But Charles hesitated. The tempting offer of Tim, the absurdity of which he did not stop to consider, conquered his first impulse.

"I move you we appropriate one hundred dollars to put with the Butterfly's money for Mr. Munroe," said William Blight, and Charles had lost the honor of making the motion.

"Second the motion," added Fred Harper.

Those in favor of giving our money to Mr. Munroe will signify it."

"Vote against it," said Tim, and Charles accepted the suggestion.

"Ten; it is a vote, though not unanimous," continued Frank, as he cast a reproachful glance at his friend who had voted against the proposition.

He was not surprised to see Tim Bunker vote against it; but that Charles should receive the advice of such a counselor, and such advice, too, was calculated to alarm him. His friend had but little firmness, and was perhaps more likely to be led away by bad influence than any other member of the club. He was sorry to see Tim exhibiting his dogged disposition, but more sorry to see Charles so much under his control.

"Hurrah!" shouted Tony, when the vote was declared. "Let us send up to Mr. Munroe, and tell him what we have done, and get little Paul. They won't want him now."

"But, Tony, you forget that our doings must be approved by our directors," said Frank.

"I'll risk them."

"It would be better to have everything right before we promise Mr. Munroe."

"So it would. Is your father at home?"

"I believe so."

"George is, and it won't take five minutes to obtain his consent. Let go the fasts forward," said Tony, as he cast off the line astern.

"We will go ashore and try to find my father," added Frank. "Ready—pull!"

Away dashed the Zephyr towards her boat house, while the Butterfly came about so that Tony could leap on shore.

Of course both Captain Sedley and George Weston were surprised at the sudden action of the clubs; but the deed was too noble, too honorable to their kind hearts to want their sanction, and it was readily given. In less than half an hour the boats were pulling towards a convenient landing-place near Mr. Munroe's house.

The poor man was confounded when the committee of two from each club waited upon him and stated their business. His eyes filled with tears, and he and Little Paul wept together.

But Mr. Munroe could not think of taking the money at first. He declared that he would suffer anything rather than deprive the boys of the gratification which their money would purchase.

"We are a little selfish about it, sir," said Tony. "We want to keep Paul among us."

"That's the idea," added Henry Brown, who was his colleague on the committee.

"I can't take your money, boys," replied Mr. Munroe, firmly.

"You will oblige us very much by taking it. My brother and Captain Sedley both know what we are about. I am sure we shall feel happier in letting you have this money than we should be made by anything it will buy. It was a unanimous vote in our club."

"Noble little fellows!" exclaimed Mr. Munroe, with a fresh burst of tears, as he grasped the hand of Tony.

The matter was argued for some time longer, and finally compromised by Mr. Munroe's agreeing to accept the money as a loan.

The notes were drawn up and signed by the poor man, whose heart was filled to overflowing with gratitude at this unexpected relief.

"Now you will let Paul come with us—won't you, Mr. Munroe?" asked Tony.

"Certainly; and I shall never cease to thank God that he has found such noble and true friends," replied the poor man; and as they took their leave, he warmly pressed the hands of each member of the committee.

"Cheer up, Paul; don't be downhearted. It is all right now," said Tony.

"I can't be lively," replied Little Paul, whose sadness cast a shade upon the enjoyment of the others.

"Why not, Paul?"

"I feel so sad; and your goodness to my poor father overcomes me."

"Never mind that, Paul; cheer up, and we will have a glorious time."

But Little Paul's feelings were too strong and deep to be easily subdued. His pride seemed to be wounded by the events of the day, and when they reached Center Island, he told Tony how badly he felt about his father being the recipient of their charity, as he called it.

"Charity, Paul!" exclaimed the noble little fellow. "Look here;" and he pulled the note he had received from Mr. Munroe out of his pocket. "Do you call this charity?"

"Perhaps he can never pay you; at least it will be a long time."

"No matter; it is a fair trade. We lent him the money."

And Tony argued the point with as much skill as a lawyer would have done, and finally so far succeeded in convincing Paul, that his face brightened with a cheerful smile, and he joined with hearty zest in the preparations for the May-day picnic.

A long spruce pole, which had been prepared for the occasion by Uncle Ben, was towed to the island by the Zephyr, and erected in a convenient place. The brushwood in the grove was cleared from the ground, the large stones were rolled out of the way, and were used in constructing a pier for convenience in landing. When their labors were concluded it was nearly dark, and the boats pulled for home, each member of the clubs anticipating a glorious time on the approaching holiday, for such the committee had decided the First of May should be.



CHAPTER XII.

FIRST OF MAY.

May day came—warm, bright, and beautiful. At six o'clock in the morning the Zephyr and the Butterfly were manned, and the boys went over to the island to trim the May-pole with evergreen and flowers. The Sylph was degraded for the time into a "freighting vessel," and under command of Uncle Ben conveyed to the island chairs and settees for the use of the guests, tables for the feast, music stands for the band, and other articles required for the occasion.

About nine o'clock the guests began to arrive, and were conveyed to the island by the two club boats—the Sylph having gone down to Rippleton after the band. The Sedleys, the Westons, Mr. Hyde, the parents of all the members of the clubs who could attend, all the boys and girls of the school, and a few gentlemen and ladies from the village who had manifested a warm interest in the welfare of the two associations, composed the party; and before ten they were all conveyed to the scene of the festival.

"Have you got them all, Frank?" asked Captain Sedley, as the coxswain was ordering his crew ashore.

"All but the Munroes, and the Butterflies are going for them by and by."

"Tom is hoisting the signal," added Captain Sedley, pointing to a blue flag on the shore, which the gardener had been directed to hoist when anyone wished to go to the Island.

"We will go, Frank," said Tony; and away dashed the boat towards the main shore.

"Ah, my Butterflies," said a voice, as they approached the landing.

"Mr. Walker!" exclaimed Tony. "Ready—up! Now let us give him three cheers. I was afraid he would not come."

The salute was given, and acknowledged by Mr. Walker.

"I am glad to see you again, my brave boy," said the gentleman, as he grasped Tony's hand.

"I was afraid you would not deem our invitation worth accepting."

"I would not have missed of coming for the world, my young friend. Here is Mrs. Walker; you know her."

Tony shook hands with the lady, and she said a great many very pretty things to him, which made the gallant little hero blush like a rose in June, and stammer so that he could hardly make them understand him.

"Shall I help you into the boat, Mrs. Walker?" said Tony.

"You shall, my little gallant; though I shall not be so glad to get into it as I was the other day."

The boat put off again, and Mr. and Mrs. Walker were filled with admiration of the excellent discipline of the rowers. They were warmly greeted by the party at the island, and lustily cheered by the crew of the Zephyr, which was again manned for the purpose of giving their liberal friend this complimentary salute.

"Off again, my lads?" asked Mr. Walker, as the Butterflies prepared to go for the Munroe family.

Captain Sedley explained to him the nature of their present errand; and, of course, the warm-hearted gentleman found renewed occasion to applaud the nobleness of Tony and his companions. He could hardly find terms sufficiently strong to express his sense of admiration, especially when he learned the sacrifice which they had made.

"A fleet of boats!" exclaimed he. "If it would raise up such boys as these, it ought to be procured at the public expense. Thank God! I am rich."

"I understand you, Mr. Walker," replied Captain Sedley; "but I beg you will not let your generosity do anything more for the boys."

"Captain Sedley, I love those boys! They are good boys, and good boys are a scarcity nowadays. There is nothing too good for them."

"You are enthusiastic."

"But I tell you, sir, there are no such boys as those in the world!" exclaimed Mr. Walker, with a gesture of earnestness.

"O, yes, sir; I presume, under the same discipline, other boys would be the same."

"Then let them have the same discipline."

"It would cost a fortune. It is a very extravagant recreation, this boating."

"But it makes men of them. I read the constitution of the clubs, and Tony tells me it is carried out to the fullest extent."

"No doubt of it. There are boys among them, who, under other circumstances, would be bad boys. I am satisfied the club keeps them true to themselves and their duty."

"That's just my idea; and these noble-hearted little fellows have bestowed the money I gave them in such a commendable manner, I mean to give them as much more."

"That was my own feeling about the matter; but I do not think it is a good plan to make good all they sacrifice. This fleet scheme was a cherished project, and it was noble in them to give it up that they might do a good deed."

"Noble! It was heroic—I was just going to use a stronger word."

"It is good for them to practise self-denial. That is all that makes the deed a worthy one."

"Exactly so."

"Therefore, my friend, we will not say anything more about the fleet at present."

"But if they bear it well, if they don't repent what they have done, why, I should not value one or two thousand dollars. Besides, it might be the means of bringing a large number of boys within the pale of good influences."

"That is my own view; and by and by we will talk more of the matter."

Captain Sedley then introduced Mr. Walker to the company, and the benevolent gentleman took a great deal of pains to inform himself in relation to the influence of the boat clubs upon the boys. He asked a great many questions of their parents, and of Mr. Hyde, the teacher. They all agreed that the young men were the better for the associations; that the discipline was very useful, and the physical exercise very healthy; but some of them were afraid their sons would acquire such a taste for the water as to create a desire to follow the seas. But few of them considered boating, under the discipline of the clubs, a dangerous recreation; so that the only real objection was the tendency to produce longings for

"A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep."

Mr. Walker tried to make the sceptical ones believe that Wood Lake was so entirely different from the "rolling deep" as scarcely to suggest the idea of a ship, or of the ocean. But the disadvantages were trivial compared with the benefits which all acknowledged to have derived from the associations, even independently of the libraries, the lectures, and the debating societies at the halls.

Tony and his companions soon returned with the Munroe family, who were cordially received by the guests. Captain Sedley expressed his sympathy for the poor man, regretting that he had not known his situation before.

"I would have bought your place myself rather than have had you sacrifice your property to the cupidity of such a man," said he.

"You are very good, sir," replied Mr. Munroe; "but I had not the courage to state my circumstances to anybody. 'Squire Chase is a very hard man; even when I paid him the money, which the kindness of the boys enabled me to do, he was so angry that he could scarcely contain himself. He swore at me, and vowed he would have vengeance."

"He must be a very disagreeable neighbor."

"He is, indeed."

"On with the dance!" shouted Frank, in the most exuberant spirits; and the rich and the poor man dropped the subject.

The boys and girls had formed a line round the May-pole, and the band commenced playing a very lively air. As the inspiring notes struck their ears, they began to jump and caper about, taking all sorts of fantastic steps, which it would have puzzled a French dancing master to define and classify. Most of the boys and girls knew nothing of dancing, as an art; but I venture to say they enjoyed themselves quite as much as though they had been perfectly proficient in all the fashionable waltzes, polkas, and redowas. Their hearts danced with gladness, and their steps were altogether impromptu.

Then came the ceremony of crowning the Queen of May, in the person of Mary Weston, which was performed in the most gallant style by Frank Sedley. Another dance succeeded, and then came the feast. A great many good things were eaten, a great many fine things said, and a great many patriotic and complimentary toasts were drank. The band played "Hail Columbia," "Yankee Doodle," and many other spirited tunes, and Mr. Walker was very much astonished, as well as amused, to hear some of the boys make speeches, flowery and fine, which had evidently been prepared for the occasion, when they were "called up" by the toasts.

After the feast was over, the party divided itself into little knots for social recreation. Frank and Mary Weston took a walk on the beach, and the rest of the boys and girls climbed over the rocks, amused themselves in the swing which Uncle Ben had put up, or wandered in the grove. Boys and girls always enjoy themselves at such seasons, and my young readers need not be told that they all had a "first-rate time."

I do not mean all; for two members of the Zephyr Club had wandered away from the rest of the party to the north side of the island. They were concealed from view by a large rock; but if any one had observed them, he could not have failed to see that they were exceptions to the general rule—that they were not happy. The two boys were Charles Hardy and Tim Bunker. Frank had been pained to notice that an unnatural intimacy had been growing up between them for several days; and he had already begun to fear that it was in the heart of Tim to lead his weak-minded associate astray.

"Now, let's see how much there is in it," said Tim.

"I am afraid to open it," replied Charles, as he glanced nervously over the rocks.

"Git out!"

"I am doing wrong, Tim; I feel it here." And Charles placed his hand upon his heart.

"Humph!" sneered Tim. "Give it to me, and I will open it."

"We ought not to open it," replied Charles, putting his hand into his pocket, and again glancing over the top of the rocks. "Besides, Tim, you promised to be a good boy when we let you into the club."

"I mean to have a good time. We might have had if you fellows hadn't given away all that money."

"I didn't do it."

"I know you didn't, but the rest on 'em did; so it's all the same. They are a set of canting pups, and for my part I'm tired on 'em. Frank Sedley don't lord it over me much longer, you better believe! And you are a fool if you let him snub you as he does every day."

"I don't mean to," answered Charles. "I believe the fellows all hate me, or they would have made me coxswain before this time."

"Of course they would. They hate you, Charley: I heard Frank Sedley say as much as that the other day."

"He did?"

"Of course he did."

"I wouldn't have thought that of him," said Charles, his eye kindling with anger.

"Let's have the purse, Charley."

Charles hesitated; but the struggle was soon over in his bosom, and he took from his pocket a silken purse and handed it to Tim.

"We are doing wrong, Tim," said he, as a twinge of conscience brought to his mind a realizing sense of his position. "Give me back the purse, and I will try to find the owner."

"No, you don't!" replied Tim, as he opened one end of the purse and took therefrom a roll of bank bills, which he proceeded to count.

"Do give it back to me! I am sure the owner has missed it by this time."

"No matter if he has; he won't get it again in a hurry," answered the Bunker, coolly. "Sixty dollars in bills! Good!"

"Give it to me, or I will go to Captain Sedley and tell him you have it."

"Will you?"

"I will."

"If you do, I'll smash your head," said Tim, looking fiercely at him. "Don't be a fool! With this money we can have a first-rate time, and nobody will be any the wiser for it."

"I am afraid we shall be found out."

Probably Charles was more afraid of that than of the wicked act which he had permitted himself to think of doing. He had found the purse on the beach a little while before. When he had told Tim of it, the reckless fellow, still the same person as before, notwithstanding his promises and his altered demeanor, had led him over to this retired spot in order to get possession of the purse.

"Nonsense! Nobody will suspect you," replied Tim, as he poured out the silver and gold in the other end of the purse.

"I never did such a thing in my life."

"No matter; there must be a beginning to everything."

"What would my mother say?"

"She will say you are a clever fellow if you don't get found out. Eleven dollars and a quarter in specie! That makes seventy-one twenty-five—don't it?"

"Yes."

"All right! We will just dig a little hole here, and put the purse into it," continued Tim, as he scooped out a hole in the sand, and dropped the ill-gotten treasure into it.

Filling up the hole, he placed a large flat stone upon the spot, which further secured the purse, and concealed the fact that the sand had been disturbed.

"I am sure we shall get found out," said Charles, trembling with apprehension.

"Nonsense! Keep a stiff upper lip; don't stop to think, and all will go well. But, my hearty, if you peach on me, I give you my word, I will take your life before you are one month older—do you hear?" And Tim's fierce looks gave force to his words. "Now, we will go back to the rest on 'em before they miss us. Mind you don't say anything, nor look anything."

Charles followed Tim back to the other side of the island, and both of them joined the sports of the day. The afternoon passed away, and nothing was said of the purse. The owner had not missed it, and Tim congratulated himself on the circumstance. Charles tried to be joyous, and though he did not feel so, he acted it so well that no one suspected him of harboring so vile a sin within his bosom.

"All aboard!" said Frank, and the band commenced playing "Home, Sweet Home."

In due time the party were all transported to the shore, and everybody went home highly delighted with the day's amusements. The Zephyr was housed, and the crew dismissed, but not a word was said about the purse.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE LIGHTHOUSE.

During the month of May, the members of the two clubs continued to spend many of their leisure hours on the lake; but my young friends must not suppose that life was to them a continuous holiday; and, because these books are devoted chiefly to their doings on the water, that boating was the only, or the principal business that occupied them. They had their school duties to perform, their errands to do, wood to split, yards to sweep; in short, they had to do just like other boys. A portion of Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, and of their other holidays, was given to these aquatic sports; so that they were really on the lake but a small part of the time. Probably, if they had spent all their leisure in the boats, the exercise would have lost its attractions, besides interfering very much with their home and school affairs. Pleasures, to be enjoyed, should be partaken of in moderation. Boys get sick of most sports in a short time, because they indulge in them too freely.

Nothing specially worthy of note occurred in either club till near the end of the month of May. The intimacy between Charles Hardy and Tim Bunker was observed to increase, though no one had any suspicion of the secret which had cemented the bond of their union.

The lost purse was the property of Mr. Walker. At a subsequent visit to Rippleton, he had mentioned his loss, but he had no idea where he had dropped it. Tim congratulated his still unwilling confederate on the success of his villainy. Mr. Walker did not even know whether he had lost his money in the town or not; so, of course, he had no suspicion of them.

"You are a first-rate fellow, Charley, but you are too chickenish by half," said Tim Bunker.

"I don't feel right about it, and I wish I had given up the purse when I found it."

"Pooh!"

"I meant to do so."

"I know you did. You were just fool enough to do such a thing. If it hadn't been for me, you would have done it."

"O, I wish I had!"

"Don't be a fool, Charley."

"I would give the world to feel as I felt before I did this thing."

"Don't think any more about it."

"I can't help thinking. It worries me nights."

"Go to sleep then."

"I can't. What would Frank say if he knew it?"

"Humph! Frank again!"

"They would turn me out of the club."

"You are no worse than any of the rest of them."

"They wouldn't steal," replied Charles, warmly.

"Don't you believe it. If I should tell all I know about some of them, they wouldn't be safe where they are, let me tell you."

"What do you know, Tim?"

"I don't choose to tell."

Charles found some satisfaction in this indefinite accusation; but it was not enough to quiet his troubled conscience. Life seemed different to him since he had stolen the purse—he had not got far enough in wickedness yet to believe that it was not stolen. He felt guilty, and his sense of guilt followed him wherever he went. He could not shake it off. Everybody seemed to look reproachfully at him. He avoided his companions in the club when not on duty with them. He began to hate Frank Sedley, though he could not tell the reason. William Bright, who was now the coxswain, Frank's term having expired, was a very strict disciplinarian, and the guilty boy had grown very impatient of restraint. He was surly and ill-natured when the coxswain rebuked him, even in the kindest tones. Everything went wrong with him, for the worm was gnawing at his heart.

"Won't you tell me, Tim?" asked he, in reply to Tim's remark.

"Not now, Charley; one of these days you shall know all about it."

"I am afraid we shall both get turned out of the club."

"No we shan't; if we do—— But no matter.'

"What would you do, Tim?"

"Never mind now, Charley. I have a plan in my head. Captain Sedley told me the other day if I didn't behave better I should be turned out."

"Then you will be."

"I don't care if I am. If they turn me out, they will make a mistake; that's all."

There was something mysterious in the words of the Bunker which excited the curiosity of Charles. He could not help wondering what he would do. Tim had so much resolution he was sure it was not an idle boast.

"I know what I am about," continued Tim, with a wise look.

"Captain Sedley says you still associate with your old companions," added Charles.

"What if I do?"

"That would be ground enough for turning you out."

"Would it? They are better fellows than you long faces, and you will say so when you know them," replied Tim, speaking as though it were a settled fact that he would know them by and by.

This conversation occurred one Wednesday afternoon, as the two boys were on their way to the boat-house. On their arrival, Tim was informed by Captain Sedley, who was apparently there for that purpose, that he was expelled from the club. It was sudden and unexpected, and had been done by the director without any action on the part of the club.

"What for?" asked Tim, in surly tones.

"I find that you still associate with your old companions, which is sufficient proof that you don't mean to reform," answered the director.

"I don't care," growled Tim, as he turned on his heel and walked out of the hall.

Charles Hardy was then called aside by Captain Sedley, who kindly pointed out to him the danger he incurred in associating with such a boy as Tim.

"I would not have kept company with him if he had not been a member of the club," replied Charles.

"He was admitted to the club on the supposition that he intended to be a better boy."

"I was opposed to admitting him," answered Charles, rather sulkily.

"I was very willing the boy should have a fair chance to reform; but when it became apparent that he did not mean to do better, I could no longer permit him to endanger the moral welfare of the club. We have been satisfied for some time; and most of the boys, after giving him a fair trial, avoided him as much as possible when they saw what he meant. But you have been growing more and more intimate with him every day. Why, it was only last night that he was seen with some twenty or thirty of his old companions. They seemed to be in consultation about something. Perhaps you were with them."

"No, sir; I was not."

"I am glad you were not. I caution you to avoid them."

"I will, sir," replied Charles, meekly; and he meant what he said.

"I am glad to hear you say so: I was afraid you had known too much of Tim Bunker," said the director, as he walked towards his house.

Charles entered the hall, and took his seat.

"Those in favor of admitting Samuel Preston to the club will signify it," said William, as soon as he was in his place.

Eleven hands were raised, and the new member, who stood by the window waiting the result, was declared to be admitted. The constitution was then read to him, and he signed it; after which the club embarked for an excursion up to the strait, where they had agreed to meet the Butterfly.

The particular object of this visit was to erect a lighthouse on Curtis Island, a small, rocky place, separated from the main shore by "Calrow Strait," which the readers of "The Boat Club" will remember. The navigation of this portion of the lake was considered very difficult, especially through the narrow passage, and it was thought to be absolutely necessary to have a lighthouse, mauger the fact that the boats always sailed by day. But as neither craft was insured, it was necessary to use extraordinary precautions!

A working party of half a dozen was detailed from each boat, consisting of the stoutest boys, who were landed upon the island. Materials were immediately gathered and the foundation laid. The structure was to be a simple round tower, as high as the patience of the workmen would permit them to build it.

In a short time all the rocks on the island had been used up, and the lighthouse was only two feet high; but this contingency had been anticipated, and provisions made for supplying more stone. A large rock was attached to the long painter of the Butterfly, and she was moored at a safe distance from the island, while her remaining crew were transferred to the Zephyr.

A rude raft, which had been provided by Tony, was towed to the shore, where an abundance of rocks were to be had. It was their intention to load it with "lighthouse material," and tow it to the island. It required all their skill to accomplish this object, for the raft was a most ungainly thing to manage. The Zephyr was so long that they could not row round so as to bring the raft alongside the bank, and when they attempted to push it in, the paint, and even the planks of the boat, were endangered.

"Can't get it in—can we?" said Charles Hardy, after several unsuccessful attempts.

"There is no such word as fail," replied William. "Bring me the long painter."

The coxswain unfastened the tow line of the raft, and tied the painter to it.

"Bowman, stand by with the boat-hook, ready to land."

"Ay, ay!"

"Now, pull steady; be careful she does not grind on the rocks; easy, there. Four of you jump ashore."

The four forward rowers obeyed the command.

"Now pass this line ashore, and let them pull in on the raft," continued William.

"Hurrah! there she is!" shouted Frank. "That was done handsomely!"

"We could have done it before, if we had only thought of it," replied William, laughing. "Now put out the fenders, and haul the boat alongside the raft."

Four more of the boys were sent on shore to help roll down the rocks, and two were ordered upon the raft to place them. A great deal of hard work was done in a very short time; but, as it was play, no one minded it, as probably some of them would if the labor had been for any useful purpose. In due time the raft was loaded with all it would carry, and the boys were ordered into the boat again.

The raft proved to be a very obstinate sailer. After a deal of hard tugging at the oars, they succeeded in getting it under a tolerable headway; but the tow line was not properly attached, and it "heeled over" so as to be in danger of "spilling" its load into the lake. Prudence and good management, however, on the part of the coxswain, conveyed it in safety to the island, and its freight soon became "part and parcel" of the lighthouse.

Two or three loads more were brought, after the lesson of experience obtained in getting the first, with but comparatively little difficulty; and at six o'clock the tower received its capstone at a height of six feet from the ground, and twelve from the water.

The lighthouse was then inaugurated by a volley of cheers. A hollow pumpkin of last year's growth, containing a lighted candle, was placed upon the apex; and then the boats departed for home. At eight o'clock, when the darkness had gathered upon the lake, they saw the light from their homes, and had the satisfaction of knowing that the light-keeper was watchful of the safety of vessels in those waters.

As Charles Hardy passed through the grove on his way home, after the club separated, he met Tim Bunker, who was apparently awaiting his coming.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE CONSPIRACY.

"Well, Charley, my pipe is out," said Tim Bunker, as he joined his late associate in the club.

"It was rather sudden," replied Charles, disconcerted by the meeting, for he had actually made up his mind to keep out of Tim's way. "I didn't expect any such thing."

"I did; I knew old Sedley meant to get rid of me."

Tim always knew everything after it was done. He was a very profound prophet, but he had sense enough to keep his predictions to himself.

"You did not say so," added Charles, who gave the Bunker credit for all the sagacity he claimed.

"It was no use; it would only have frightened you, and you are chickenish enough without any help. But no matter, Charley; for my part, I am glad he turned me out. He only saved me the trouble of getting out myself."

"Did you really mean to leave?"

"To be sure I did."

"What for?"

"Because I didn't like the company, to say nothing of being nosed round by Frank Sedley, Bill Bright, or whoever happened to be coxswain. If you had been coxswain, Charley, I wouldn't minded it," replied Tim, adroitly.

"But I wouldn't nose the fellows round," replied Charles, tickled with Tim's compliment.

"I know you wouldn't; but they wouldn't make you the coxswain. They hate you too much for that."

"It is strange they haven't elected me," said Charles, musing.

"That's a fact! You know more about a boat than three quarters of them."

"I ought to."

"And you do."

Charles had by this time forgotten the promise he had made to Captain Sedley—forgotten the good resolution he had made to himself. Tim's flattery had produced its desired effect, and all the ground which the Bunker had lost was now regained.

"I am sorry they turned you out, Tim," said he.

"I am glad of it. They will turn you out next, Charley."

"Me!"

"Yes."

"Why should they?"

"Because they don't like you."

"They wouldn't do that."

"Don't you believe it," replied Tim, shaking his head, and putting on a very wise look. "I'll bet they'll turn you out in less than a month."

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Not much."

They had now reached the end of the grove, and Tim suggested that they should take seats and "talk over matters." Charles readily assented, and they seated themselves by the margin of the lake.

"What do you know, Tim?" asked Charles, his curiosity very much excited.

"I only know that they don't like you, and they mean to turn you out."

"I don't believe it."

"Do you mean to tell me I lie?"

"No, no; only I can't think they would turn me out."

"I heard Frank say as much," replied Tim, indifferently.

"Did you."

"To be sure I did."

Charles stopped to think how mean it was of Frank to try to get him out of the club; how hypocritical he was, to treat him as a friend when he meant to injure him. It did not occur to him that Tim had told a falsehood, though it was generally believed that he had as lief tell a lie as the truth.

"You are a fool if you let them kick you out, as they did me," continued Tim.

"What can I do?"

"Leave yourself."

"Next week is vacation; and we have laid out some first-rate fun."

"There will be no fun, let me tell you."

"What do you mean, Tim?"

"If you want to be the coxswain of a boat as good as the Zephyr next week, only say the word," replied Tim, slapping him on the back.

"How can that be?" asked Charles, looking with surprise at his companion.

"And you shall have as good a crew as the Zephyr; better fellers than they are, too."

"I don't understand you."

"You shall in due time."

"Tell me what you mean, Tim."

"Will you join us?"

"Tell me about it, first."

"And let you blow the whole thing?"

"I won't say a word."

"Will you promise not to say anything?"

"Yes."

"Will you swear it?"

Tim had read a great many "yellow-covered" books in his time, in which tall buccaneers with long beards and bloodshot eyes required their victims to "swear," and he seemed to attach some importance to the ceremony. Charles "swore," though with considerable reluctance, not to reveal the secret, when it should be imparted to him.

"You must join our society, now."

"Society?"

"Yes; we meet to-night at eight o'clock, in the woods back of my house."

"What sort of a society is it, Tim?" asked Charles, with a great many misgivings.

"That you shall learn when we meet. Will you come?"

"My father won't let me go out in the evening."

"Run out, then."

Tim suggested various expedients for deceiving his parents, and finally Charles promised to attend the meeting.

"You haven't told me the secret yet."

"The society is going to camp on Center Island next week, and we are going to take the Zephyr and the Butterfly along with us."

"Take them? How are you going to get them?"

"Why, take them, you fool!"

"Do you mean to steal them?"

"Humph! We mean to take them."

"But do you suppose Captain Sedley and George Weston will let you keep them?"

"They can't help themselves. We shall take the Sylph, and every other boat on the lake, with us, so that no one can reach us. Do you understand it?"

"I do; but how long do you mean to stay there?"

"All the week."

"And sleep on the ground?"

"We can have a tent."

"How will you live?"

"We shall carry off enough to eat beforehand." Then you see, we can sail as much as we please, and have a first-rate time on the island. I shall be coxswain of one boat, and you shall of the other if you like."

"But we shall have to come home some time."

"In about a week."

"What would my father do to me then?"

"Nothing, if you manage right. If he offers to, just tell him you will run away and go to sea. He won't do nothing then."

"I don't know about that."

"He won't kill you, anyhow. And you will have a week's fun, such as you never had before in your life."

"The Zephyrs won't have anything to do with me after that."

"They hate you, Charley, and all they want is to get you out of the club. You are a fool if you don't leave yourself!"

Charles paused to consider the precious scheme which had thus been revealed to him. To spend a week on the island, and not only to be his own master for that time, but command one of the boats, pleased him very much. It was so romantic, and so grateful to his vanity, that he was tempted to comply with the offer. But then the scheme was full of peril. He would "lose caste" with the Zephyrs; though, if Tim's statement was true, he was already sacrificed. His father would punish him severely; but perhaps Tim's suggestion would be available, and he knew his mother would be so glad to see him when he returned, that she would save him from the effects of his father's anger. His conscience assured him, too, that it would be wrong for him to engage in such a piece of treachery towards his friends; but Tim declared they were not his friends—that they meant to ruin him.

Thus he reasoned over the matter, and thus he got rid of the objections as fast as they occurred to him. While he was thinking about it, Tim continued to describe in glowing colors the fun they could have; occasionally relating some adventure of "Mike Martin," "Dick Turpin," or other villain, whose lives and exploits were the only literature he ever read.

But Charles could not fall at once. There were some difficulties which he could not get over. It was wrong to do as Tim proposed; it was so written on his soul. The "still small voice" could not be silenced. As fast as he reconciled one objection, another came up, and something in his bosom kept saying, "You must not do it."

The more he thought, the more imperative was the command. "Run away as fast as you can!" said the voice within him. "You are tempted; flee from the temptation."

"I guess I won't join you, Tim," said he.

"You won't, eh?" replied Tim, with a sneer.

"I think not; I don't believe it is right. But I won't say anything about it."

"I rather guess you won't. It wouldn't be safe for you to do so."

"I won't, upon my honor, Tim," replied Charles, rising from his seat, and edging away from his dangerous companion.

"Look here, Charley Hardy; in one word, you've got to join the Rovers."

"The what?"

"That's the name of a society," answered Tim, who had mentioned it without intending to do so.

It was certainly a piratical appellation, and Charles was not prepossessed by it in favor of the society. It had a ring of bold and daring deeds, and his studies had not prepared him to entertain a very high opinion of Tim's heroes, Dick Turpin and Captain Kidd.

"You can't back out now, Master Hardy," continued Tim.

"I don't want to join you, but I won't say a word."

"Very well, my fine fellow!" and Tim rose and walked away towards home.

Charles did not like this. He was afraid of Tim; afraid that some terrible thing would happen to him if he did not keep on the right side of him.

Like thousands of others, he had not the courage to do his duty, and leave the consequences to take care of themselves. He was more afraid of the Bunker than of the frowns of an accusing conscience.

"I say, Tim!" he called.

"Well, what you want now?" replied Tim, stopping.

"Suppose I don't join?"

"Then you will be in Rippleton jail before to-morrow night; that's all."

"What for?"

"No matter; if you come to the meeting to-night, all right; if you don't—Rippleton jail;" and Tim hastened away, heedless of Charles's calls.

Rippleton jail! What could he mean by that? He felt guilty, and his heart beat so violently that he could hardly breathe. The stolen purse, which still lay buried on Center Island, seemed to haunt him, and with that he immediately connected Tim's dreadful threat. His confederate meant to charge him with stealing it. It was all very plain, and his conscience told him how justly he would be accused. He could not go to jail innocent, as Tony had, and be borne home in triumph from the court by the boat club.

His frame trembled with emotion; and he knew not what to do. There was a right way and wrong way for him to proceed—the path of duty and the path of error.

"I will go to Captain Sedley and tell him all about it," said he to himself, "and tell him that they mean to steal the boats."

This was the path of duty; but he had not the courage to walk in it. He would be despised even then, and Tim Bunker would certainly be revenged if he did.

"I will go;" and he actually walked a short distance towards Captain Sedley's house; but his courage failed him; he dared not do right, and that evening he joined the "Rovers."

Poor Charles!



CHAPTER XV.

THE "ROVERS."

After Charles Hardy had joined the "Rovers" band, which was composed of the original Bunkers, with others whom Tim had collected together, his conscience proved less troublesome. The first wrong step taken, the second follows with less compunction, and so on, till the moral sense is completely blunted.

At the meeting he was informed by Tim that he had been admitted to the society on account of his knowledge of boats. They could not get along without such a fellow; and he was accordingly appointed "master of marine," and second in command to Tim himself. These honors and compliments reconciled him to the society of the Rovers, and he began to exhibit his energy of purpose in directing the details of the next week's operations.

Saturday was appointed as the day for stocking the island with provisions and other necessaries, ready for the reception of the entire party on Sunday night. Tim and Charles were to attend to this duty in person.

"Meet me at eight o'clock in the morning over by Joe Braman's landing, Charley, and—"

"But school keeps; I can't go till afternoon."

"And then the Zephyrs will see what we are about."

"I can't help it."

"Yes you can; can't you 'hook Jack'?"

"I dare not."

"Humph! You are an idiot! Tell the fellows to-morrow that you are going over to your uncle's, and they will tell the master."

Charles consented, after some argument.

"I will get Joe's boat, and we can pull off to the island and get the money."

"Where will you buy the things?"

"We must go down to Rippleton. You must get some, and I will get some. We will buy them at different stores, so no one will know but what they are for the folks."

"And the tent?"

"We will get a piece of cotton cloth for that, and some needles and thread. Leave all that to me. Now, be on hand in season."

"One thing, Tim: I may be seen in Rippleton."

"No matter if you are. Bluff 'em off if they say anything."

The Rovers were to "rendezvous"—Tim had found this word in the "Adventures of the Bold Buccaneer"—at nine o'clock on Sunday evening at the wood. The arrangements were all completed, and the band dispersed.

On Saturday Charles was true to his appointment, and met Tim on the north side of the lake. The money was procured, and the provisions were safely deposited in the boat. It is true, Charles was so much embarrassed that he well-nigh betrayed the existence of the plot to the shopkeepers; and he was very glad when this part of the business was done.

Then a new difficulty presented itself. Suppose the Zephyrs should visit Center Island that afternoon and discover the stores! They had not thought of this before, and the risk was too great to be incurred. They decided to conceal their stores on the main shore till night, and then carry them off. A convenient place was found for this purpose, and the articles were landed.

They then repaired to the island to mature their plans.

"Now, where shall we pitch the tent?" asked Charles, when they landed.

"On the high ground near the beach."

"We have no poles. Here is the May-pole; that will do for one."

"We can't pitch the tent, soldier fashion. We must drive down four forked stakes; then put poles on the forks, and cover the whole with cloth."

"But where are the stakes and the poles?"

"We can cut them in the woods. We will get Joe Braman's ax, and do it this forenoon."

"Suppose they should make a raft, and come off to us?" suggested Charles.

"We have two fast boats, and can easily keep out of their way," replied Tim. "If they want to fight we can beat them off."

Charles did not approve of fighting, and thought it would be bad policy. Tim was tolerably tractable now that he was having his own way, and was not very strenuous in support of his own pugnacious views. When their plans were fully digested they left the island to prepare the stakes. Before noon they separated, and the truant returned home about the usual time.

That afternoon he joined the Zephyrs in an excursion up the lake, and another lighthouse was erected in the vicinity of a dangerous reef.

"What shall we do next week?" asked Charles, as they were returning home.

"We are going up the river," replied Frank. "My father has consented to it."

"Has he? That will be first rate."

"And so has George Weston."

Charles relapsed into deep thought. He was thinking how much better he could enjoy himself with good boys than with such fellows as the Rovers; for, though he was "master of marine" among them, he could not help acknowledging to himself that they were not pleasant companions. They used profane and vulgar language; were always disposed to quarrel. Disputes which were settled peaceably in the clubs were decided by a fight among the Rovers; and the ambitious "master" had many misgivings as to his ability to control them. Tim could manage them very well; for, if one was turbulent, he struck him and knocked him down; and Charles had not the brute courage to do this.

"What are you thinking about, Charley?" asked Frank, pleasantly.

"Nothing," replied Charles, promptly, as he tried to laugh.

"You act rather queerly this afternoon; just as though you had something on your mind."

"O, no; nothing of the kind."

"I hope you don't regret the expulsion of Tim Bunker."

"Certainly not."

Charles tried to be gay after that; but he could not. There was a weight upon his soul which bore him down, and he felt like a criminal in the presence of his companions. He was glad when the club landed, and the members separated—glad to get away from them, for their happy, innocent faces were a constant reproach to him.

Sunday was a day of rest; but every moment of it was burdened with a sin against God and against himself. Every moment that he delayed to repent was plunging him deeper and deeper in error and crime. Strangely enough, the minister preached a sermon about the Prodigal Son; and the vivid picture he drew of the return of the erring wanderer so deeply affected the youthful delinquent that he fully resolved to do his duty, and expose the Rovers' scheme.

The money had been spent in part; but, if they sent him to jail, it would be better than to continue in wickedness. Then he thought what Captain Sedley would say to him; that the club would despise him; and that he would not be permitted to join the sports of the coming week—to say nothing of being put in prison.

But his duty was plain, and he had resolved to do it. He had decided to suffer the penalty of his transgression, whatever it might be, and get back again into the right path as soon as he could.

Happy would it have been for him had he done so. On his way home from church he unfortunately met Tim Bunker, who had evidently placed himself in his way to confirm his fidelity to the Rovers.

Tim saw that he was meditating something dangerous to the success of his scheme. Charles was cold and distant. He appeared to have lost his enthusiasm.

"If you play us false, it will be all up with you," said Tim, in a low, determined tone. "I can prove that you stole the purse. That's all."

It was enough to overthrow all Charles's good resolution. His fickle mind, his shallow principle, gave way. Stifling his convictions of duty, and silencing the "still small voice," he went home: and there was no joy in heaven over the returning prodigal.

"Charles," said his father, sternly, as he entered the house, "you were not at school yesterday!"

"I got late, and did not like to go," whined he.

"Where were you?"

"Down at the village."

"Go to your room, and don't leave it without permission."

Charles obeyed. The consequences of his error were already beginning to overtake him. His father joined him soon after, and talked to him very severely. He was really alarmed, for Captain Sedley had given him a hint concerning his son's intimacy with Tim Bunker.

Charles was not permitted to leave his room that afternoon, and his supper was sent up to him; but his mother brought it, and consoled him in his troubles—promising to prevent his father from punishing him any more.

"Now, go to bed, Charley; never do so again, and it will be all right to-morrow," said the weak mother, as she took her leave.

But Charles did not go to bed. The family retired early; and, taking his great-coat on his arm, he stole noiselessly out of the house. At nine o'clock he was at the rendezvous of the Rovers.

It was not deemed prudent to put their plans in execution till a later hour; and the band dispersed, with instructions to meet again in an hour at Flat Rock, where the boats would be in readiness to take them off to the island.

Tim and Charles, with four others, immediately repaired to the place where Joe Braman's boat, which had been hired for the enterprise, was concealed. Seating themselves in it, they waited till the hour had expired, and then, with muffled oars, pulled up to the Butterfly's house.

The doors which opened out upon the lake were not fastened, and an entrance was readily effected. The boat was loosed, pushed out into the lake without noise, and towed down to the Zephyr's house. But here the doors were found to be fastened; and one of the boys had to enter by a window, and draw the bolt. The boat was then secured without difficulty.

"Now, Charley, you get into the Zephyr with two fellows, and tow the Sylph off," said Tim, in a whisper.

"Shan't I get my crew first?"

"Just as you like."

Charles and his two companions got into the Zephyr and worked her down to the rock, where he received his crew. It was found then that some of the Rovers had not yet made their appearance, so that there were only ten boys to each boat.

Although the success of the criminal undertaking required the utmost caution, Charles found his command were disposed to be very boisterous, and all his efforts would hardly keep them quiet. After some trouble he got away from the shore; but his crew, from the want of discipline, were utterly incapable of pulling in concert. They had not taken three strokes before they were all in confusion—tumbling off the thwarts, knocking each other in the back, and each swearing at and abusing his companions.

"Hold your jaw, there!" called Tim Bunker, in a low tone, from the Butterfly.

"Cease rowing!" said Charles.

But they would not "cease rowing," and the prospect was that a general fight would soon ensue in spite of all the coxswain's efforts to restore order. At last Tim came alongside, and rapping two or three of the turbulent Rovers over the head with a boathook, he succeeded in quieting them.

After several attempts Charles got them so they could pull without knocking each other out of the boat; but he was heartily disgusted with his crew, and would gladly have escaped from them, even if Rippleton Jail had yawned to receive him. After half a dozen trials he placed the Zephyr alongside the Sylph, let go her moorings, and took her in tow. The Rovers then pulled for the island; but the passage thither was long and difficult.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE CAMP ON THE ISLAND.

As the crew of the Zephyr tugged at their oars, their imperfect discipline imposing double labor upon them, Charles had an opportunity to consider his position. The bright color of romance which his fancy had given to the enterprise was gone. The night air was cold and damp, and his companions in error were repulsive to him. There was no pleasure in commanding such a motley crew of ill-natured and quarrelsome bullies, and if it had been possible, he would have fled from them. Who plunges into vice may find himself in a snare from which he cannot escape though he would.

At last they reached the island, and the Sylph was anchored near the shore. There was a great deal of hard work to be done; but each of the Rovers seemed to expect the others would do it.

"Now, Charley, everything is right so far," said Tim Bunker, whose party had just drawn Joe Braman's boat upon the beach.

"Everything is wrong," Charles wanted to say; but Tim was too powerful to be lightly offended.

"I can do nothing with such a crew as that," whined he. "They won't mind, and every fellow wants his own way."

"Hit 'em if they don't mind," replied Tim.

"I think we had better spend an hour in drilling them. We can't handle the boat as it is."

"We must get the tents up before we do anything else. You go after the stakes and poles and I will get the provisions."

Before the crews returned to the boats, Tim made a little speech to them upon the necessity of order; promising, if any boy did not obey, he would thrash him "within an inch of his life."

"Now tumble into the boats, and, Charley, if any feller don't do what you tell him, let me know it, and I will lick him for you."

"All aboard!" said Charles.

"Where are we going now?" asked one of his crew.

"No matter; all you have got to do is to obey orders," replied Charles, sharply.

"Say that again!" said the fellow, with an oath, as he doubled up his fist, and menaced the unfortunate coxswain with a thrashing.

"Hallo, Tim!" shouted Charles, who dared not venture to carry out the Bunker's summary policy.

"What's the row?" said Tim, as he hastened to the spot.

"I can't do anything with this crew; here is a fellow shaking his fist in my face."

"Let him be civil then," added the refractory Rover.

"It was you, was it, Barney?" said Tim, as he stepped into the boat.

"I'll bet it was," replied the fellow, standing upon the defensive.

"Take that, then," continued the "chief," as he brought his fist down upon the rebel with such force that he tumbled over the side of the boat into the water. "You want to get up a mutiny—don't you?"

The fellow scrambled ashore, wet through and shivering with cold.

"You'll catch it for that, Tim Bunker!" growled Barney.

"I'll teach you to mind. Now, Charley, put off, and don't be so stiff with them yet. They are not such chicken-hearted pups as the Zephyrs, I can tell you;" and Tim stepped ashore.

"Take your oars; if you only do as I tell you, we shall get along very well," said Charles. "We can't do anything unless you mind."

He then showed them how to get their oars out, and how to start together; but they did not feel interest enough in the process to pay much attention to what he said, and several ineffectual attempts were made before they got a fair start.

"Hallo! Ain't you going to take me?" shouted Barney, from the shore, as they were leaving.

"Will you obey orders?"

"Yes; but I won't be kicked."

"Nobody wants to kick you," replied Charles, who, deeming that the rebel had made a satisfactory concession, put back after him.

"This ducking will be the death of me," said Barney, as he got into the boat.

"A little hard pulling will warm you, and when we get back, we shall make a fire on the island," answered Charles, in a conciliatory tone, "Now, ready—pull!"

The Rovers worked better now, and the Zephyr moved with tolerable rapidity towards the shore; but it was very dark under the shadow of the trees, and Charles could not readily find the place where the materials for the tent had been concealed. Each of the crew thought he knew more about the business than the coxswain; and in the scrape the Zephyr was run aground, heeled over on one side, and filled half full of water.

It required some time to bail her out; but it was accomplished at last, the stakes and poles put on board, and they rowed off to the island again. Tim had arrived before him, and had landed the stores.

"Where are the matches, Tim?" asked Charles.

"What are you going to do?"

"Make a fire."

"What for?"

"Some of us are wet, and we can't see to put up the tents without it."

"But a fire will betray us."

"What matter? We are safe from pursuit."

"Go it, then," replied Tim, as he handed Charles a bunch of matches.

The fire was kindled, and it cast a cheerful light over the scene of their operations.

"Now, Rovers, form a ring round the fire," said Tim, "and we will fix things for the future."

The boys obeyed this order, though Barney, in consideration of his uncomfortable condition, was permitted to lie down before the fire and dry his clothes.

"I am the chief of the band; I suppose that is understood," continued Tim.

"Yes," they all replied.

"And that Charley Hardy is second in command. He can handle a boat, and the rest of you can't."

"I don't know about that," interposed one of them. "He upset the boat on the beach."

"That was because the crew did not obey orders," replied Charles.

"He is second in command," replied Tim. "Do you agree to that?"

"Yes," answered several, who were willing to follow the lead of the chief.

"Very well; I shall command one party and Charley the other; each in his own boat and on the island. Now we will divide each party into two squads, or watches."

"What for?" asked Barney.

"To keep watch, and do any duty that may be wanted of them."

Tim had got this idea of an organization from his piratical literature. Indeed, the plan of encamping upon the island was an humble imitation of a party of buccaneers who had fortified one of the smallest of the islands in the West Indies. The whole scheme was one of the natural consequences of reading bad books, in which the most dissolute, depraved, and wicked men are made to appear as heroes, whose lives and characters are worthy of emulation.

Such books fill boys' heads with absurd, not to say wicked ideas. I have observed their influence in the course of ten years' experience with boys; and when I see one who has named his sled "Blackbeard," "Black Cruiser," "Red Rover," or any such names, I am sure he has been reading about the pirates, and has got a taste for their wild and daring exploits—for their deeds of blood and rapine. One of the truant officers of Boston, whose duty it is to hunt up runaway boys, related to me a remarkable instance of the influence of improper books. A few years ago, two truant boys were missed by their parents. They did not return to their homes at night, and it was discovered that one of them had stolen a large sum of money from his father. A careful search was instituted, and the young reprobates were traced to a town about ten miles from the city, where they were found encamped in the woods. They had purchased several pistols with their money, and confessed their intention of becoming highwaymen! It was ascertained that they had been reading the adventures of Dick Turpin, and other noted highwaymen, which had given them this singular and dangerous taste for a life in violation of the laws of God and man. My young readers will see where Tim got his ideas, and I hope they will shun books which narrate the exploits of pirates and robbers.