flask full of excellent old whiskey--over
there," and he pointed disconsolately to the line of green water where
the tell-tale fluttered above the wrecks of "The Aquidneck."

The young lady knit her brows in puzzled thought, "What is in our
locker, Jim?"

"Bread and butter, cocoanut balls and ginger-ale."

"Get out the ginger-ale."

"But it is your luncheon," deprecated Flint.

"No, it isn't--it is your medicine. Try it."

Flint pressed the iron spring, and poured down the spluttering liquid,
striving to conceal his wry face.

"Bully, ain't it?" exclaimed Jim, not without a tinge of regret for
lost joys in his tone.

"Excellent!" returned Flint, perjuring himself like a gentleman.

"It is better than nothing," Miss Fred answered judicially. "I will
send Jim up to the inn with some brandy; Marsden's stuff is rank
poison. I had some once this summer when I was ill, and straightway
sent off to town for a private supply. If you feel able to exercise, I
should advise you to let us put you off at this point, and make a run
across country to Marsden's."

"I don't know how to thank you," Flint murmured as Jimmy pulled the
row-boat up, and the young man prepared to climb in after him.

"There is no occasion for thanks. But if you insist on a debit and
credit account, please charge it off against the ruin of your
fishing-rod."

"I am humiliated."

"You?"

"Yes; I must have been a model of incivility."

"No; it was I who was in fault, rushing about the country like a
jockey riding down everything in sight."

"Who except a fool would have had a fishing-rod trailing half-way
across the road?"

"Look here," grumbled Jim, "I can't hold this dory bumping against the
side of the boat forever--"

"Don't be impertinent, Jim. Besides apologies never last long. It is
only explanations which take time--"

Flint jumped from the gunwale of the sail-boat into the dory, and took
the oars. As he headed for shore, he turned his eyes once more to the
sail-boat, and the glimpse that he had of its skipper he carried for
long after--the vision of her standing there in the stern, against the
stretch of blue water, her soft handkerchief of some red stuff knotted
about her throat above the gray jacket, her felt hat thrust up in
front above the waves of her hair, and her eyes smiling with frank
mirthfulness.

CHAPTER III

OLD FRIENDS

"It's