Down on the shore; in a sheltered cove
among the trees, the _Scud_, a small boat, was idly flapping her
dirty patched sail.
"Wonder what dad left it up for?" thought the boy.
"Maybe he's going after more ducks. Wish to goodness he'd help with these
potatoes so I could get off, too."
Then his eyes roamed out over the water until they rested upon a white
sail away in the distance, bearing steadily down-stream. He watched it
carelessly for some time, but noticing the manner in which it drooped
under an occasional squall his interest became aroused.
"There's too much canvas, that's sure!" he ejaculated. "Some idiot, I
s'pose, who doesn't know 'bout these squalls. Guess he'll learn soon if he
isn't careful. Now the _Scud_, she's all right. I'd risk her any
time--My--!" and he almost held his breath as the white sail, much nearer
now, swooped to the water like the wing of a gigantic bird. The boat
righted herself, however, and sped gracefully forward. Again and again she
dipped and careened under each successive squall, winning the lad's
unstinted admiration. But even as he looked and wondered, a furious gust
caught the white sail as it listed heavily, and drove it with one sweep to
the water, overturning the boat as it did so.
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