servant will gladly take an oar."

Distin ceased rowing, and, balancing the oars a-feather, he said
coldly:--

"If you don't stop that chattering, my good fellow, I'll either pitch
you overboard, or set you ashore to walk home."

"Thankye," cried Macey, cheerfully; "but I'll take the dry, please."

Distin's teeth grated together as he sat and scowled at his
fellow-pupil, muttering, "Chattering ape;" but he made no effort to put
his threats into execution, and kept rowing on, twisting his neck round
from time to time, to see which way they were going; Vane and Gilmore
went on talking in a low tone; and Macey talked to himself.

"He has made me feel vicious," he said. "I'm a chattering ape, am I?
He'll pitch me overboard, will he? I'd call him a beast, only it would
be so rude. He'd pitch me overboard, would he? Well, I could swim if
he did, and that's more than he could do."

Macey looked before him at Vane and Gilmore, to see that the former had
turned to the side and was thoughtfully dipping his hand in the water,
as if paddling.

"Halloo, Weathercock!" he cried. "I know what you're thinking about."

"Not you," cried Vane merrily, as he looked back.

"I do. You were thinking you could invent a machine to send the boat
along far better than old West Indies is doing it now."

Vane stared at him.

"Well," he said, hesitatingly, "I was not thinking about Distin's
rowing, but I was trying to hit out some way of propelling a boat
without steam."

"Knew it! I knew it! Here, I shan't read for the bar; I shall study up
for a head boss conjurer, thought-reader, and clairvoyant."

"For goodness' sake, Gilmore, lean back, and stuff your handkerchief in
that chattering pie's mouth. You had better; it will save me from
pitching him into the river."

Then deep silence fell on the little party, and Macey's eyes sparkled.

"Yes, he has made me vicious now," he said to himself; and, as he sat
back, he saw something which sent a thought through his brain which made
him hug his knees. "Let me see," he mused: "Vane can swim and dive like
an otter, and Gil is better in the water than I am. All right, my boy;
you shall pitch me in."

Then aloud:

"Keep her straight, Distie. Don't send her nose into the willows."

The rower looked sharply round, and pulled his right scull. Then, a
little further on, Macey shouted:--

"Too much port--pull your right."

Distin resented this with an angry look; but Macey ke