re quiet and dignified in their deportment than
usual. There was no loud talk, no jesting; even Fred Harper looked
thoughtful and serious. Each member seemed to feel the responsibility of
winning the race resting like a heavy burden upon his shoulders.

The boat was hauled out into the lake, and once more Frank cautioned
them to keep cool and obey orders.

"Don't look at the Butterfly after we get started," said he. "You must
permit me to keep watch of her. Keep both eyes on me, and think only of
having your stroke perfectly accurate, perfectly in time with the
others. Now, remember, don't look at the Butterfly; if you do, we shall
lose the race. It would distract your attention and add to your
excitement. If she gets two or three lengths ahead of us, as I think she
will on the first mile, don't mind it. Pull your best, and leave the
rest with me."

"Ay, ay!" replied several, quietly.

"Do you think we shall win, Frank?" asked Charles, who had put the same
question a dozen times before.

"We must _think_ that we shall," replied Frank, with a smile. "Here
comes the Butterfly. Now, give her three cheers. One!"

"Hurrah!"

"Two!"

"Hurrah!"

"Three!"

"Hurrah!"

This compliment was promptly returned by the Butterfly, as she came
alongside the Zephyr.

"Quarter of three, Frank," said Tony.

"Time we were moving then," replied Frank, as he ordered the oars out,
and the boats started for the spot where the Sylph, the judges' boat,
had taken position.

They pulled with a very slow stroke, and not only did the respective
crews keep the most exact time, but each timed its stroke with the
other. It was exhibition day with them, and they were not only to run
the race, but to show off their skill to the best advantage. Hundreds of
people, their fathers and their mothers, their sisters and their
brothers, were observing them from the shore, and this fact inspired
them to work with unusual care.

It was a very beautiful sight, those richly ornamented boats, their gay
colors flashing in the bright sunshine, with their neatly uniformed
crews, their silken flags floating to the breeze, and their light,
graceful oars dipping with mechanical precision in the limpid waters. As
they glided gently over the rippling waves, like phantoms, to the middle
of the lake, a long and deafening shout from the shore saluted their
ears. The white handkerchiefs of the ladies waved them a cheerful
greeting, and the Rippleton Brass Ban