A few days later the boys gathered together and strolled down to the beach, hoping something there would turn up to amuse them.

Two or three schooners and a steamboat were moored at the wharf; but to-day they excited only a languid interest in the boys.

“If we could only go out on the lake,” Will murmured, “it would be fun.”

“Why, where should we go?” inquired one.

“Oh, just out on the lake for a mile or so; or perhaps we might round the point and have a swim in our swimming-place.”

“Well, then,” said Jim, always with an eye to safety and comfort, “why not get out your father’s boat? Wouldn’t it float us all? And it’s so safe!”

“Yes,” said Will, “it’s pretty safe—very safe in the boat-house. And the key of the boat-house is safer still, at home! That’s the way it goes, boys; and when I want a boat ride, I generally struggle around the best I can. It isn’t worth while to trudge home for it; because, most likely, we should find something else to do when we got there. But I think we can light on a craft of some sort if we scratch around a little.”

Although Will’s father owned a boat, the key of his boat-house was always kept at home; and poor Will was about as much benefited as are most boys whose fathers own boats, and ponies, and carriages.

“I hanker for a boat ride,” Charley said. “Let us take the punt.”

[89]

“The punt, of course!” Steve chimed in. “The punt is just what we want.”

“Oh,” groaned Jim, “the punt is dirty and worn out; and it leaks; and it tips over; and it won’t go; and an awful storm is going to come up!”

“Look here, boys,” the Sage began, “Jim’s half-way right about that punt; it’s vulgar! And besides, it isn’t so safe as it ought to be. Only the other day, I read about some boys that went out in a cockle-shell of a boat,—I suppose it meant a punt; only, as I told you, punt is very vulgar, too vulgar for this author, at any rate,—and all got drowned! And another thing; I’ve been reading about the weather lately, and I understand just how it goes now.”

And the Sage looked so knowing that it was difficult for the boys to suppress their laughter. He was now casting intelligent glances at the sky, the birds, the grasshoppers, the lake, and even the ground. Soon he spoke.

“Boys,” he said, as impressively as he knew how, “I’m saying nothing rashly, but deliberately and—and—correctly. I’ve observed the weather indicators, and a dreadful storm is coming up fast! A storm that will stun an equinoctial, and tear Germany all to pieces.”

And the meteorologist’s form swelled with science and satisfaction.

“Whereas, on account of these gloomy auguries, resolved: that we go home and hide in the cellar hatchway till the storm is over,” Charles commented.

“No, boys; I’m in earnest, and I don’t care to go out in the punt,” George said firmly.

“I want to inquire into this drowning affair,” Steve said, “Didn’t you read about it in a little gilt-edged story-book?”

“Well, yes, I did,” George reluctantly acknowledged. “But, what of that?”

“Only this, were they all bad boys?”

“Come to think, they were.”

“That accounts for it then. They always put those solemn tales in books for little boys that get sick, and[90] can’t get out doors, to make ’em think that a sound boy is always bad, and that it’s better to be sick. But somehow the superintendent always make a muddle of it, and give all those books to little girls. My little sisters have got a big cigar box chock-full of ’em, endwise up, and I never got one!”

“Yes, I know them; each nine chapters and a preface long,” said Charley.

“They’re the ones,” said Steve.

“What do your sisters do with them?” Will asked.

“Oh, they mostly build houses with ’em on rainy days,” Steve answered. “Now, we are not bad boys—never were. We are a first-rate crew, so let us go. But to please you, George, I’ll go and ask that sailor about the weather. I guess he ought to know, if anybody’s going to.”

Without loss of time, Steve went up to a sailor a little way off, and inquired, “Bill, what sort of weather are we going to have to-day?”

“Weather,” echoed Bill, grinning good-humoredly. “Well, look out for a rough gale; pretty rough and pretty long. Yes, there’ll be an awful blow—a hurricane—a typhoon!” he added, remarking Steve’s dissatisfied looks, and mistaking their cause. “Why, who knows but that there’ll be a zephyr that’ll swoop the hold clean out of a vessel and carry a door-knob clean over a flag staff.”

Stephen appeared more dissatisfied than ever; and the jocose sailor, who wished to please him, was about to give a startling account of what the weather might be; but more than satisfied, Steve thanked him, and returned to the expectant five.

“Well, what does he say?” Will demanded.

Stephen dejectedly repeated what the sailor had told him.

George was not in a humor to say, “I told you so!” On the contrary, he was furious against the sailor. He allowed his indignation to boil for a few moments, and then exclaimed, haughtily, “What does that man know about the weather? Why, he doesn’t know any more about it than a caged dromedary. Why, he’s nothing but a lubber—a fresh-water sailor—a stone-boater—a—a—”

[91]

“And, besides,” chimed in Marmaduke, “that isn’t the way a genuine sailor talks. He must be some disguised—”

“Yes, of course it isn’t; of course he is;” George broke in. “He is some disguised vagabond, trying to humbug us fellows. Come along, boys; I’m going with you in that punt, through thick and thin, in the teeth of every lubberly sailor, and wishy-washy weather indicator, and high toned thunder-storm, that ever astonished anybody!”

This strikes the key-note to the Sage’s character.

But Stephen was angered. “See here, George,” he exclaimed, “that man is an honest sailor and a decent fellow, and you just let him alone!”

The boys, thinking time enough had been fooled away, then made a rush for the punt. This punt was an old derelict, heavy, unwieldy, full of chinks, and boasting of only two crazy poles, called “oars,” or “paddles,” or “sculls,” according to the humor of the wretch who gallanted them. No one could step into this craft without getting wet; and why it was kept there, or what use it was to the community, was unknown; for no one, except a few freckled and grimy street urchins, ever shoved off in it. Perhaps it was kept for them!

The six, however, had urged their way round the wharf in it.

“Come along, Jim!” Steve shouted, seeing that Timor lagged behind.

“Such a dirty boat to get into!” Jim objected. “And I’ve got my good clothes on, too!”

“Come, now, Jim, you and George are altogether too careful of your clothes. If they are so new and good, or so old and rotten, that you can’t go with us, then stay at home. Hurry up, you’ve got to go with us,” and Steve forced him in—an unwilling passenger.

And so the adventurous boys embarked in this dirty and dilapidated craft, with which Time, so to speak, had worked wonders.

“How are we to make the crazy thing go?” Will asked, when fairly afloat, looking around in vain for any motive power.

[92]

It is always thus with boys. Not till their own imprudence plunges them into difficulties, do they pause to consider what it all means, and what they had better do. When a boy is small he clambers upon the roof of his father’s barn, enjoys the perspective for one brief moment, and then ruminates as to how he shall get down. His mother sees him, and with tears in her eyes and dismay at her heart, tears out of the house, and exclaims, “Oh, Johnnie, why did you get up there?” Then the little innocent answers stoutly, “Well, ma, I reckoned if I could get up, I could get down again. Now, you jest watch, and I’ll climb down like a spider. Don’t be afraid, ma, it’s nice up here; I can see Mr. Morley’s shed,” (the object which bounds his view.) When older, he “volunteers;” girds on his uniform with ............