The “Boojum” and the little “Sabrina” dropped anchor in the harbor at Nantucket Island almost at the same time. They found themselves in the midst of a fleet of trig catboats, yawls and splendid motor yachts. Every male in the island is said to have some sort of boat, and the catboat seemed to be the choice of the majority. There is a stretch of land-locked water reaching along one side of the island, and here, every day, are to be seen races between the many catboats.

Boat after boat slid in, found its mooring, and emptied itself of its gay-sweatered, picnicking crowd. The boats were so packed and wedged in that the “Boojum’s” people began to wonder how they could pick their way into shore with the tender.

Suddenly a speed boat shot out from the landing in front of the club house and with marvelous skill threaded its way among the moored boats. As it approached the “Boojum,” a tall gray-haired man, who was standing at the wheel, raised one hand and waved it at the group on the “Boojum’s” deck.

“Why, he seems to be coming up alongside,” Mr. Wing said in surprise.

“Ahoy on board the ‘Boojum!’” boomed the man’s deep voice.

“Come aboard,” invited Mr. Wing with a cordial smile and a bewildered voice.

“It’s Tim’s father, of course,” said Frances, springing forward to greet him. “They look exactly alike. Jane, run down into the saloon and tell Tim his daddy is here.”

But Mr. Reynolds, with a Tim-like grin that included them all in its heartiness, said:

“Please, young lady, let me go see my boy. I’ll be up in a second and thank all of you for your kindness.”

He had disappeared down the companionway before Frances got her breath, Mr. Wing following and the rest of the crew close on the heels of their captain.

Some persons think it is an amusing thing to see two men kiss, but no one would have been amused to see the gray-haired Mr. Reynolds take his red-haired son in his arms and kiss him first on one cheek, then on the other. Tim seemed to like it and not to be a bit abashed.

“How’s mother?” he asked as soon as he emerged from the bear’s hug his father was giving him.

“In an awful stew about you! When you didn’t come home that night, she threw a few fits and then, when there was no word from you, she threw a few more. The telegram that finally arrived only assured her you were as well as might be expected with a broken leg. Now she is having an awful time because the telegram didn’t say which leg.”

“Poor little Mumsy! It’s the left one, but since I don’t write or shave with my toes it doesn’t really make much difference.”

Then Tim introduced his father to the captain and the crew and the elder Reynolds by his heartiness and honest gratitude soon began to run his son a close race in their admiration and affection. It doesn’t take many hours on ship board for people to become very well acquainted and, already, the inmates of the “Boojum” had begun to feel that Tim Reynolds was a life-long friend.

“And these two slips of girls carried you down that rocky hill all by themselves? I don’t believe it! Let me feel your muscle!” said Mr. Reynolds, putting his hand around Frances’ biceps.

“Jimminy crickets! As hard as steel! Now where did you get your stretcher? Tell me all about it, every detail. My wife is sure to want to know everything that can be told. You say Tim was unconscious most of the time?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Frances, who, having been the one to find Tim, was tacitly understood to be the one to answer for him. “Either unconscious or light-headed, but his head was the only thing that was light, I can assure you. He said he hadn’t eaten anything for a day and a night, but he must have been breathing heavily all the time because he certainly hadn’t lost any weight.”

Then she had to tell him how she and Jane made a stretcher with their skirts and the oars. Here he interrupted:

“What kind of skirts? Tell me what kind and what color. The boy’s mother will worry my soul out of me if I don’t find out what kind and what color.”

“Just plain khaki, Camp Fire Girls’ skirts!” laughed Frances. “The kind we are wearing now, but we must change them soon, as we always dress up a bit when we go ashore.”

“But, my dear young lady, please don’t! I beg of you don’t change your skirts.”

Mr. Reynolds’ request was such a strange one the girls could not help laughing. His manner was earnest, but in his eyes there was a regular Tim twinkle.

“But why not?” insisted Frances.

“It is this way: you see, of course, when you go ashore it must be to our home, and I can tell you if you don’t wear those skirts out of which the stretcher was made that carried our Tim, his mother will never cease bewailing, to say nothing of Cousin Esther. Of course, you can tie them up in a bundle and let me carry them ashore, but ashore they must go. Am I not right, Tim?”

“Well, Mother is right fond of detail and as for Cousin Esther—” confessed Tim. “If you girls don’t mind—”

“Mind! Of course we don’t mind,” put in Jane. “The only thing Frances and I don’t like about going ashore is having to doll up. We’ll even carry Tim ashore as we carried him down the hill if that would help any.”

“Not me!” cried Tim. “I’ll never cease to be grateful to you for carrying me as you did, but, remember, I am not unconscious now and my leg has been set. I’m afraid you’ll jiggle it out of place. I bid for Breck and Jack to do the carrying this time.”

“We certainly will,” said Breck heartily, while Jack gave Tim a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “I think, Mr. Reynolds,” continued Breck, “you had better send for a surgeon as soon as you get your son home. I am little more than an amateur and think an expert should pass on my manner of setting bones.”

“Certainly, young man, although I am sure you made a good job of it. What my boy would have done without your skill I tremble to contemplate.............