rred to try their luck singly. Ernest picked up the oars
awkwardly. He had had little experience in rowing and he felt
self-conscious under the Captain's eye. His first stroke sent a shower
of drops flying over them.

"Here," called Sherm, "that isn't a hose you're handling!"

"Anyhow, the drops feel lovely and cool." Katy was inclined to defend
Ernest.

"A longer, slower stroke will do the work better and not blister your
hands so quickly," admonished Captain Clarke. "Our future admiral must
learn to row a boat skillfully. You boys are welcome to use it whenever
you see fit."

Ernest set his lips together firmly and soon had the boat skimming along
rapidly, though still rather jerkily, his strokes being more energetic
than regular. The woods were already echoing with soft night noises,
frogs croaked; the clicking notes of the katydids mingled with the
whining of the wind through the boughs overhead. Part of the pool
disappeared in the shadows; the rest broke into shimmering ripples with
every stroke of the oars.

"Oh, I love the night time!" exclaimed Chicken Little. "Seems as if
everything in the world had done its day's work and was sitting down to
talk it over--even the frogs. Don't you s'pose they're glad or sorry
about things when night comes, just as we are?"

Sherm looked at Chicken Little, who was leaning over the side of the
boat, trailing her hand in the water.

"Chicken Little, you work your imagination overtime--it will wear out if
you aren't careful."

She rewarded him with a grimace.

"You are getting a much evener stroke, Ernest," observed the Captain.

"I bet he's getting a blister on his hand, too," said Katy.

"Yes, Ernest, you'd better let me have a turn." Sherm slid over to the
rower's seat and reached his hand for the oars, which Ernest yielded
reluctantly.

Sherm had spent one summer near Lake Michigan and was a better oarsman
than Ernest. The boat skimmed along smoothly. "Good for you, Sherm, you
have a strong, even stroke," the Captain praised.

Presently the girls began to sing, Ernest and Sherm joining in. Captain
Clarke listened happily to the young voices until they struck up "Soft
and Low over the Western Sea." They all loved it and were crooning it
sweetly, but the Captain's face went white as they sang: "Father will
come to his babe in the nest." "Don't!" he exclaimed involuntarily.

They all looked at him in surprise. He regained his self-possession
instantly, saying wi