ed Ford.

"Any time. Ham lets me use her whenever I like. She's fast enough, but
she's built so she'll stand 'most any thing. Safe as a house if she's
handled right."

"Handled!"

Ford Foster's expression of face would have done honor to the Secretary
of the Navy, or the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee in Congress,
or any other perfect seaman, Noah included. It seemed to say,--

"As if any boat could be otherwise than well sailed, with me on board!"

Dabney, however, even while he was talking, had been hauling in from its
"float and grapnel," about ten yards out at low water, the very
stanch-looking little yawl-boat that called him owner. She was just such
a boat as Mrs. Kinzer would naturally have provided for her boy,--stout,
well-made, and sensible,--without any bad habits of upsetting or the
like. Not too large for Dabney to manage all alone, "The Jenny," as he
called her, and as her name was painted on the stern, was all the better
for having two on board, and had room in her then for more.

"The inlet's pretty narrow for a long reach through the marsh," said
Dabney, "and as crooked as a ram's horn. I'll steer, and you pull, till
we're out o' that, and then I'll take the oars."

"I might as well row out to the crab-grounds," said Ford, as he pitched
his coat forward, and took his seat at the oars. "All ready?"

"Ready," said Dab; and "The Jenny" glided gracefully away from the
landing with the starting-push he gave her.

Ford Foster had had oars in his hands before, but his experience had
been limited to a class of vessels different in some respects from the
one he was in now.

He was short of something, at all events. It may have been skill, or it
may have been legs or discretion; but, whatever was lacking, at the
third or fourth stroke the oar-blades went a little too deeply below the
smooth surface of the water. There was a vain tug, a little out of
"time;" and then there was a boy on the bottom of the boat, and a pair
of well-polished shoes lifted high in the air.

"You've got it," shouted Dabney.

"Got what?" exclaimed an all-but angry voice from down there between the
seats.

"Caught the first 'crab,'" replied Dabney: "that's what we call it. Can
you steer? Guess I'd better row."

"No, you won't," was the very resolute reply, as Ford regained his seat
and his oars. "I sha'n't catch any more crabs of that sort. I'm a little
out of practice, that's all."

"I should say you were, a lit