“Don’t try to move,” he said in a softer voice. “It’s the easiest thing in the world to upset these toys. If you had taken a respectable ocean dory--I can’t see why they don’t provide them at the floats,” he complained, with the nervousness of an uneasy man. “I can manage perfectly where I am. Sit still, Miss Carruth!” She did not look at him this time, but she sat still. He put about, and rowed steadily. For a few moments they did not exchange a word. Helen had an offended expression. She trailed her hand in the water with something like petulance. Bayard did not watch her. Captain Hap crossed their course, rowing home in an old green dory full of small bait--pollock and tinkers. He eyed Bayard’s Harvard stroke with surprised admiration. He had seldom seen a person row like that. But he was too old a sailor to say so. As the minister swerved dexterously to starboard to free the painter of his tender from collision with the fisherman, Captain Hap gave utterance to but two words. These were:-- “Short chops!” “Quite a sea, yes!” called Bayard cheerily. Captain Hap scanned the keel-boat, the passenger, and the dory in tow, with discrimination. “Lady shipwrecked?” he yelled, after some reflection. “No, sir,” answered Helen, smiling in spite of herself; “captured by pirates.” “Teach ye bet-ter!” howled Captain Hap. “Hadn’t oughter set out in short cho-ops! Hadn’t oughter set out in a craft like that nohow! They palm off them eggshells on boarders for bo-o-oats!” Helen laughed outright; her eyes met Bayard’s merrily, and, if he had dared to think so, rather humbly. “I was very angry with you,” she said. “I can’t help that,” replied Bayard. “Your father and mother were very anxious about you.” “Really?” “Naturally. I was a chartered pirate, at any rate.” “But I was in no sort of danger, you know. You’ve made a great fuss over nothing.” “Take these oars,” observed Bayard. “Just let me see you row back to the float.” Helen took the oars, and pulled a few strokes strongly enough. The veins stood out on her soft forehead, and her breath came hard. “I had no idea the tide was so strong to-night. The wind seems to be the wrong way, too,” she panted. “It was blowing you straight out to sea,” observed Bayard quietly. “Shall I take the oars?” he added. She pulled on doggedly for a few moments. Suddenly she flung them down. “Why, we are not making any headway at all! We are twisting about, and--going out again.” “Certainly.” “It is that heavy dory! You can’t expect me to row two boats at once.” “The dory does make some difference. But very little. See--she doesn’t draw a teaspoonful of water. Shall I take the oars?” “If you please,” said Helen meekly.