released it
again. Demonstrations of affection were not frequent between these
two, yet they had a pretty good understanding. They walked on in
silence.

"Just the same, Frank," said Della presently, "you must take better
care of yourself."

Frank nodded. He did not trust himself to speak. The interest shown by
this girl with whom he had grown up, living in the same household with
her from early boyhood, threw him into a softened mood. Then, too, the
moonlit surroundings were not without their effect. He knew that if
he spoke now, he would say something "soft." So he maintained his
silence.

The trio ahead meanwhile chattered gaily. And at length the boathouse
was reached. Bob swung back the door and, all pushing together, the
boat was trundled out on its little trucks, removed to the chute in
which rollers were set, and rolled down to the water and launched.
Then all climbed in, Bob examined the fuel supply and found the boat
well stocked, Jack seized the tiller, they seated themselves in the
little cockpit and, with Bob manipulating the engine, the boat moved
away, gathered speed and, with a roar, began zipping out to sea.

It was glorious sport, to which four of the five were accustomed, but
which they enjoyed enormously no matter how often engaged in. To Miss
Faulkner it was a revelation, and bundled in a sweater, her hair
loosed and flying back in the wind, her eyes dancing with the zest of
the adventure, she looked like an elf, as Della told Frank in a
whispered aside. Frank nodded and grinned.

"Bob thinks so, too," he whispered in reply. "He can't keep his eyes
off her. If we didn't have the whole sea ahead of us, he'd run into
something sure."

Up and up and up went the speedometer. The boat seemed no longer to be
rushing through the water. It spurned that heavier element, and took
to the air. It leaped from crest to crest of the swells. The girls
shrieked, the boys let out great chesty whoops of pure animal delight.
Then Bob cut down the speed and Jack, controlling the tiller, swung
her about towards home. They had been out only half an hour, but the
shore was miles away. However, the return was made without incident or
trouble of any kind, the motor working perfectly, and once more they
stepped ashore at the boat landing.

"Which do you like best, Mr. Temple," asked Marjorie Faulkner, as big
Bob rejoined the party on the landing, after locking the doors;
"boating, flying or motoring?"

"Oh, I don'