fully that ponderous old muzzle-loader from which more than one Chamboro youth of predatory tendencies had tasted the bitter sting of rock-salt, mostly about early apple-time,—and especially when the Captain's graft of Brandywine Pears on his Strawberry Reds showed the right degree of succulence.
Then, with not a little caution, and some stiffness of limb, Cap'n Sands stepped into the Katie Wilson and dropped, perhaps a little unexpectedly, down into her comfortable wicker-backed stern seat.
"There we be!" cried Cap'n Steiner, leaping nimbly aboard. But the Katie Wilson was unused to such unlooked for agility. She careened and dipped, and for a critical moment held the old Captain balanced on his toes, apparently undecided whether to dive headlong into the water, or drop rather shamefaced down into his seat. Once comfortably settled, however, the green boat was pushed stealthily off from shore, and with a face that might almost be said to wear a scowl of dark and resolute purpose old Cap'n Sands gave a word or two of command, pulled the little tiller-cord, and swung their craft round in pursuit of that
