I feel wretched--there's no denying that," spoke Betty with a
sigh. "To think that I should run you girls on a sand bar, almost on our
first trip. Isn't it horrid?"

"Well, we'll forgive her if she'll run us off again; won't we, girls?"
asked Grace, searching among the cushions.

"Here it is," said Amy with another of her calm smiles, as she produced
the box of candy for which Grace was evidently searching.

"Thanks. Well, Betty, are you going to get forgiven?"

"Which means am I going to get you off this bar? Well, I'm going to do
my best. Wait until I take a look at the engine."

"What's the matter with it?" asked Mollie quickly, a new cause for alarm
dawning in her mind.

"Nothing, I hope," replied Betty. "But we ran on the bar so suddenly
that it may be strained from its base."

"Is it a baseball engine?" asked Grace languidly. She seemed to have
recovered her composure now. Whether it was the fact of her chocolates
being safe, or that there was no immediate danger of sinking, or that no
alligators were in sight, was not made manifest, but she certainly
seemed all right again.

"It's enough of a ball game to have a base, and to be obliged to hold
it," said Betty with a smile, as she bent over the machinery, testing
the bolts and nuts that held the motor to the bottom of the boat.

"I guess it's all right," she added with a sigh of relief. "Now to see
if it will operate. But first I think we'd better see if we can push
ourselves off with the oars and boat hook," for Betty, knowing that the
best of motors may not "mote" at times, carried a pair of long sweeps by
which the _Gem_ could laboriously be propelled in case of a break-down.
There was also a long hooked pole, for landing purposes.

"Mollie, you take one of the oars, and I'll use the other," directed
Betty, for she realized that she and the French girl were stronger than
the others. "We'll let Grace and Amy use the hook. Then if we all push
together we may get off without further trouble. If that won't answer,
we'll try reversing the engine." The machinery had been shut down by
Betty immediately following the sudden stop on the bar.

About the stranded craft swirled the muddy river. Bits of
driftwood--logs and sticks--floated down, and sometimes there was seen
what looked to be the long, knobby nose of an alligator, but the girls
were not sure enough of this, and, truth to tell, they much preferred to
think of the objects as black logs, or bits of w