eeting any one. It was
an ideal night for prowling along the beach. The "Merry Maid" lay
quietly at anchor, although the waves were beginning to lash against
her sides with more than their accustomed energy. The youth was guided
toward her by the golden lights that shone through the yellow lamps
outside her cabin.

There was absolute silence aboard the little boat; not a sight or a
sound of any one stirring inside the cabin. Alfred Thornton pulled a
large clasp knife from his pocket, then sawed savagely at the heavy
rope that secured the anchor. It was the work of a moment to sever it.
Next he pulled the divided ends into strands, hoping that the rope
would look as though it had broken apart. There still remained the
second rope that was twisted around the stake. Alfred crept cautiously
out of the water up the little stretch of beach. This was his moment of
danger. Any one looking through one of the cabin windows might see his
dark figure. Yet Thornton hesitated. The wind was blowing strongly.
Surely the pretty houseboat would not drift out into dangerous waters.
Surely she would come aground a few miles further down the shore. The
minutes were precious. Alfred Thornton quickly cut the second rope.
Then, without glancing behind him to see the result of his deed, he ran
with all speed to his own motor launch.

"I know I am late," Thornton muttered to Tom Curtis as he crept into
the cot alongside of Tom's. "I had to take that Harris girl home. She
kept me talking on her porch for ages. A storm was coming up and it was
hard to get across the bay. I shall be glad when this foolishness is
over and we break camp and get back home again."

When the ropes of the "Merry Maid" were cut she did not drift at once
from the shore and in adventurous fashion, make use of her new freedom.
The way outside was strange and uncertain. The "Merry Maid" had never
traveled from a safe anchorage except when she was under escort and
protection. Now she lingered, drifting uncertainly, but keeping close
to the shore and moving very slowly.

Half an hour after midnight the tide changed. The water ran away from
the shore. The wind rose to a shrieking gale. But the "Merry Maid" was
not unstable. The bottom of the boat was flat, she was broad and roomy.
She did not pitch and roll, as a lighter craft would have done; she
simply moved quietly away from the shore, borne by the wind and the
tide.

The houseboat had been anchored for two weeks along