he island when Hal descried him and
shouted to him to wait. "Think I'd let you go alone in that canoe,
kiddie?" he asked. "There's too much wind to-day; look at her sweep down
the north channel. Why, she'd turn you round and round like 'Willie
waltzing.' Hold on, I'm coming with you." With that he sprang into the
canoe and they were away.

It was rather a cold wind for early September, and the two boys were
glad to paddle hard to keep their circulation up. Both were in shirt
sleeves and both somewhat chilled; but by the time they had reached the
mainland they were all tingling with rioting blood and with appetites
ready to attack their cargo of bread, even minus the butter. They
started back in good shape, although Hal's weather eye observed that
the wind was picking up and that they would have to work for it to make
the island in good time for supper. All went well for some distance,
although sometimes the waves galloped up and slipped over the bow where
Freddy knelt, plying his paddle in good form. Out in mid-stream, with
both wind and current against him, Hal had considerable difficulty
in steering; his strong, muscular arms pulled little Freddy's stroke
around, and he bent to the work of "digging potatoes" with a vengeance.
The bow with its light boyish ballast would rise and rise again,
slapping down on the surface or taking the waves like a cork. Then came
a line of combers, one on top of another. The taut little Peterborough
rode the first like a shell, the second she dipped, the third she
shipped a whole bucketful of water. As it poured over the deck, little
Freddy flung himself backward to escape the drenching, the canoe dipped,
Freddy landed full weight on the leeward gunwale--and they were over.
For the first instant, Hal was conscious of but one thing, that he was
being struck through with the chill of the water on top of being in a
heat of perspiration with battling the canoe through the waves. Then he
came to the surface to see the canoe, turned turtle, floating bottom up
three yards away. Then a limp mass of brown clothes and brown curls
cannoned into him, and reaching out, he grasped Freddy.

"Don't get scared, kid," he gasped, spluttering the water out of his
throat; "keep cool and don't clutch me too tight." He might as well
have spoken to the winds, for little Freddy, chilled through and
terror-stricken, was clinging to him like an octopus, impeding his arm
and leg action, and almost choking the brea