they all admire the peaches.

"Best Michigan produces," he boasted. "Every one big as a coffee-cup;
and perfect in shape, colour and flavour. Freestone, too. Nothing
exceptional about them either. Millions more just like 'em. Can't match
them anywhere in the world."

"Saw by the paper this spring that the peach crop was ruined by the
frost," marvelled Carlin.

Taylor laughed.

"My dear fellow, the Michigan peach crop is destroyed regularly _every_
spring. Seem to be enough peaches by August, however."

They fell to on the lunch. When they had eaten all they could, there
still remained enough to have fed four other picnics of the same size as
their own.

Bobby remained not long cast down, however.

"Been at it, have you?" observed Captain Marsh after the irate parent
had departed. "What was it this time?"

"I ate a piece of cake," replied Bobby.

"H'm! That doesn't sound very bad."

"It was Mrs. Owen's cake," supplemented Bobby.

"I see," said the Captain gravely in enlightenment. "What are you going
to do now?"

"I'm going to eat my lunch," Bobby informed him, showing the three
bread-and-butter sandwiches.

"H'm. So'm I," said the Captain. "Better join me."

They entered the pilot-house and established themselves facing each
other on the wide leather seat. The Captain produced a tin dinner-pail
with a cupola top such as Bobby had often seen men carrying, and which
he had always desired to investigate. This came apart in the middle. The
top proved to contain cold coffee all sugared and creamed. The bottom
had a fringed red-checked napkin, two slabs of pie, two doughnuts, and
four thick ham sandwiches made of coarse bread. They ate. Captain Marsh
insisted on Bobby's accepting a doughnut and a piece of pie. Bobby did
so, with many misgivings; but found them delicious exceedingly because
they were so different from what he was used to at home.

"Now," said the Captain, brushing away the crumbs with one comprehensive
gesture, "what do you want to do now? You got to stay aboard, you
know?"

"Can't we fish?" suggested Bobby timidly.

The Captain looked about him with some doubt.

"Well," he decided at last, "we might try. The time of day's wrong, and
the place don't look much good; but there's no harm trying."

Two long bamboo poles fitted with lines, hooks, and sinkers were slung
alongside the deck-house. Captain Marsh produced worms in a can. The two
sat side by side, dangling their feet over the ste