usly ate all the
gumballs. These scarcely satisfied their youthful appetites and, anyway,
as Dot said, it _must_ be supper time.

So they ate all of the provisions they could possibly swallow. This
attack made fearful inroads upon the stock of provisions. There was no
cheese left, few of the animal crackers, and half of the peanut butter
was literally "licked up," for they had to use their fingers.

"Ho!" said Sammy, "what's the odds? Fingers was made before spoons."

"Not our fingers, Sammy Pinkney," retorted Dot. "But maybe pirates don't
mind about table manners."

Just then her boy comrade was not thinking much about the pirate play.
If he had ever felt that he was fitted to rove the seas under the Jolly
Roger banner, on a career of loot and bloodshed, he had quite got over
the hallucination.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to get Dot home. He had a very decided
belief that if his father interviewed him after this escapade something
serious would happen to him.

Dot, having recovered from her first fright, and being blessed now with
a very full stomach, began to nod. She finally fell fast asleep with her
head on Sammy's shoulder. He let her sink down on the boards, putting
the sack of potatoes and his jacket under her head for a pillow.

He could not sleep himself. Of course not! He must keep watch all night
long. No knowing when the people who had stolen the barge might come and
open the hatchway and attack them. Sammy was quite convinced that the
man and the girl had illegally taken possession of the canalboat.

He sat beside the softly breathing Dot and listened to certain rustling
sounds in the hold, wondering fearfully what they meant. It seemed to
him that no rats could make such noises.

"Might be wolves--or snakes," thought the boy, and shivered desperately
as he sat in the dark.

The canalboat continued to go its blundering way, and scarcely a sound
from out-of-doors reached the little boy's ears. Captain Bill Quigg fell
asleep at the rudder arm and only woke up now and then when he came
close to losing his pipe from between his teeth. "Lowise" kept close at
the heels of the ancient mules, urging them with voice and goad. The
hound, misnamed Beauty, slept the unhappy sleep of the flea-ridden dog.

The thunderstorm had cleared the air. It was a beautiful afternoon. For
although the children in the hold thought it long past their usual
supper-time, it was nothing of the kind.

The air in the hol