was not injured, for he had extinguished the fire before the
shavings were well kindled. He fastened the trunk lights securely,
locked the cabin door, and taking possession of the basket, he embarked
in his skiff again. Sculling out beyond the wharf, he looked for the
Juno. The wind was so light she made but little headway, and was
standing off shore with the breeze nearly aft. It was Laud's boat, but
it might not be Laud in her. Why should the wretch attempt to burn the
Maud?

Then the scene in Mr. Rodman's garden, when Laud had been invited to
leave, came to his mind, and Donald began to understand the matter.
While he was thinking about it, the moon came out from behind a cloud
which had obscured it, and cast its soft light upon the quiet bay,
silvering the ripples on its waters with a flood of beauty.

Donald glanced at the basket in the skiff, still half filled with
shavings. It was Laud's basket, beyond a doubt, for he had often seen
it when the owner came down to the shore to embark in his boat. The
initials of his father's name, "J. C.," were daubed upon the outside of
it, for there is sometimes as much confusion in regard to the ownership
of baskets as of umbrellas. Donald was full of excitement, and full of
wrath; and as soon as he got the idea of the guilty party through his
head, he sculled the skiff with all the vigor of a strong arm towards
the Juno, easily overhauling her in a few moments. He was so excited
that he dashed his skiff bang into the Juno, to the serious detriment of
the white paint which covered her side.

"What are you about, Don John?" roared Laud Cavendish, who had seen the
approaching skiff, but had not chosen to hail her.

"What are you about?" demanded Donald, answering the question with
another, Yankee fashion, as he jammed his boat-hook into the side of the
Juno, and drew the skiff up to the yacht, from which it had receded.

Taking the painter, he jumped on the forward deck of the Juno, with the
boat-hook still in his hand.

"What do you mean by smashing into me in that kind of style, and jabbing
your boat-hook into the side of my boat?" cried Laud, as fiercely as he
could pitch his tones, though there seemed to be a want of vim to them.

"What do you mean by setting the Maud afire?" demanded Donald. "That's
what I want to know."

"Who set her afire?" replied Laud, in rather hollow tones.

"You did, you miserable spindle-shanks!"

"I didn't set her afire, Don John," protes