t tell me what Mr.
Long wanted of you, I won't get into the boat. Was it about the money
you _found_?" asked Kate.

"No; he didn't say a word about that. He only asked me why I was not at
school."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him the teacher sent us down to get some green branches to put
over the clock, for we were to have visitors at school this afternoon."

"Did he believe you?"

Kate laughed; she appreciated what she regarded as the joke of a clever
deception; the wickedness of the act did not disturb her.

"Of course he believed me--why shouldn't he? He has gone up to ask Mrs.
Green if I went to school."

"But he will find out all about it."

"No, he won't; besides, if he does, we shall be a mile off when he gets
back here again."

"Didn't he say a word about the money you found?"

"Not a word, Kate. Now, jump in, or we shall certainly get caught. We
shall have time enough to talk about these things when we get away from
the pier."

Kate was satisfied, and stepped into the skiff. All her fears related
to the money in the possession of her friend, which, she was almost
certain, had been stolen. She was moralist enough to understand that
even if the money had been found on the floor, as Fanny represented, it
was just as much stolen as though it had been taken from Mr. Grant's
pocket-book. Kate had not engaged in this theft, and she was not
willing to bear any of the blame on account of it. If the crime had
already been discovered, she did not wish to expose herself to the
peril of helping to spend the money. According to Fanny's statement,
nothing had been found out, and she got into the skiff.

Fanny had been among the boats a great deal during her residence at
Woodville, and rowing and sailing were suited to her masculine taste.
She was a girl of quick parts; her faculty of imitation was highly
developed, and generally what she had seen done she could do herself.
She could row cross-handed very well, and she had no difficulty in
pulling the skiff out to the Greyhound's moorings. Kate stepped on
board of the sail-boat, and Fanny, fastening the painter of the skiff
at the stern, began to bustle around with as much confidence as though
she had been a skipper ever since she left her cradle.

She had often sailed in the Greyhound with Ben and others, and she knew
precisely what was to be done in order to get the boat under way. She
understood how to move the tiller in order to make the craft go in