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Page 3
"Yes, Betty," the voice of a cheerful, honest-looking young fellow at
the tiller--evidently brother Charles--replied. "He's a little chap,
but he's got a man into him. Hurrah!"
"Give way, 'Aladdin!' Stick to it! You're sure to get there."
The sloop had slid along by me now, so that I could read her name
repeated on her stern--"James Silt, New Haven."
"Good-bye, little boy!" cried my cherubic vision to me, flitting aft,
and leaning over the port davit.
"Good-bye, sissy!" I returned, and raising my voice, I hailed,
"Good-bye, Cap'n Silt!"
Brother Charles looked puzzled an instant. Then he gave a laugh, and
shouted across the broadening interval of burnished water, "You got my
name off the stern. Well, it's right, and you're a bright one. You'll
make a sailor! Good luck to you!"
He waved his cap, and the strong tide swept his craft onward, dragging
her rainbow image with her.
As far as I could see, the fair-haired child was leaning over the stern
watching me, and brother Charles, at intervals, turned and waved his
cap encouragingly.
This little incident quite made a man of me again. I forgot the hard
face I had seen, and brother Charles's frank, merry face took its
place, while, leaning over brother Charles's shoulder, was that angelic
vision of his sister.
Under the inspiring influence of Miss Betty's smiles--a boy is never so
young as not to conduct such electricity--I pulled along at double
speed. I no longer measured my progress by the rocks in the mud, but by
the cottages and villas on the bank. Now that I had found friends on
board one of the vessels arrowing by, it seemed as if all would prove
freighted with sympathizing people if they would only come near enough
to hail. But I was content with the two pleasant faces stamped on my
memory, and only minded my business of getting home before dark.
The setting sun drew itself a crimson path across the widening strait.
The smooth water grew all deliciously rosy with twilight. The moon had
just begun to put in a faint claim to be recognized as a luminary, when
I pulled up to my father's private jetty.
Everything looked singularly sweet and quiet. June never, in all her
dreams of perfection, could have devised a fairer evening. I was a
little disappointed to miss my father from his usual station on the
wharf. He loved to be there to welcome me returning from my little
voyages, and to hail me gently: "Now then, Harry, a strong pull, and
let me see how far you can send her! Bravo, my boy! We'll soon make a
man of you. You shall not be a weakling all your life as your father
has been, mind and body, for want of good strong machinery to work
with."
He was absent that evening. I hurried to bestow my boat neatly in the
boat-house. I locked the door, pocketed the key, and ran up the lawn,
thinking how pleased my father would be to hear of my adventure with
the sloop and its crew, and how he would make me sketch the sloop for
him, which I could do very fairly, and how he would laugh at my vain
attempts to convey to him the cheeks and the curls of Miss Betty.
A CHAPTER OF BUTTS.
[Illustration: "I'LL BUTT IT," SAID THE GOAT.
"WHAT! IT BUTTS AGAIN."
"I'LL GIVE IT A GOOD ONE, THIS TIME."
"PERHAPS I'D BETTER GET OUT OF ITS WAY."
BUT HE DIDN'T.]
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