hey welcomed the first gleaming of Whitecap pond with
whoops of delight.

Whitecap pond seemed to return the welcome, too; for it twinkled all
over in the light of an afternoon sun, as they set up the two tents that
were to house them; and it sent in its light ripples dancing merrily
almost to the very door of the tents; a splash now and then in the still
waters told them of fishing delights to come. The white, fine sand of
its shores was soft as carpet to their feet, as they ran races along
the shore, and took a swim by moonlight before they turned in for the
night's rest.

They liked the wildness of the loon's weird hullo, coming in at the open
flaps of the tents from afar; and the clumsy fluttering and flapping of
great beetles against the canvas, attracted by the lantern light that
shone through. The cawing of crows just above their heads awoke them
early next morning.

They were out for perch and bass before the sun was high, and were in
luck, for the fish were plenty; and the perch chowder that Bob, who was
an old and experienced camper, made for the noon meal was a wonderful
achievement, and reminded them of old times in Samoset Bay.

But there was one drawback--at least, for Henry Burns and Harvey, who
were hankering for the grip of a tiller and the thrill of a boat under
sail. There wasn't a sailboat to be hired on the pond. There were not
many, and they were all engaged. Coombs, who owned the slip and the
boats, said he hadn't done such a business in years. He could only let
them have two rowboats. Yet they came into the use of one, two days
later, through an adventure.

It was early in the afternoon, and Henry Burns and Harvey and Little Tim
stood on the float at Coombs's landing, looking at a sailboat that lay
at its berth alongside. It was not exactly a handsome craft; with too
great length for its beam, and its lines drawn out so fine astern that
it bade fair to be somewhat cranky. It had no cabin, and there was
seating room for a large party--a design calculated more for profit than
safety.

The boat was in evident poor condition, lacking paint, and its rigging
frayed, a not uncommon condition with boats to let in small waters of
this sort. Somewhat crude lettering on the stern spelled the name,
_Flyaway_.

"Looks as though she might fly away with somebody, all right, if he
didn't look out," remarked Harvey, grinning at his companions. "Wish we
had her, though, for a week. We'd take a chance, eh,