They chugged along steadily for some time, then suddenly the boat stopped short, gave a few futile wheezes, went on a little distance, and then came to a dead standstill, or as much of a one as a boat afloat could do. “Hello! What’s wrong?” cried Tom and Reed in unison, as they climbed over to where Alvin was striving in vain to right matters. “Let’s look at her,” said Tom, gazing down into the depths where the engine was. He and Alvin consulted, experimented, did their best, but the boat still lopped helplessly around, drifting with the outgoing tide. “I’m blest if I know what’s wrong,” said Tom, lifting his head at last. “Nothing seems to be out of order so far as I can see.” “It looks all right to me,” Alvin agreed. “I don’t suppose by any chance it needs some juice,” remarked Reed. “I never thought of that,” replied Alvin, grinning sheepishly. “I gave the can to Sam Denny and told him to fill her up, so it must be stowed away somewhere.” He began to search. “It’s horrid, this lopping around,” complained little Mrs. Olmstead. “Do help to look for the can, Bert,” she said to her brother. He joined in the search, but it was to no avail, and at last Alvin stood up and shook his fist in the direction of the distant Beatty’s Island. “Doggone that Sam Denny!” he exclaimed. “He’s forgotten to put it in.” “Do you mean we can’t go on?” cried Mrs. Olmstead in horrified tones. No one answered. The young men looked at each other, then looked off across the water to discover the nearest land. “There’s nothing to do but to row for it,” said Reed to Alvin, “and the longer we wait the farther out we’ll drift.” “Then we’d better waste no time over it,” returned Alvin, clambering over the seats and drawing up the little trailer alongside. He crawled in, Reed following, and they plied the oars vigorously, the larger boat in tow. It was a hard pull, but by degrees the distance to shore lessened, and at last they reached dry land. “Have we got to spend the night here?” asked little Mrs. Olmstead with a hysterical sob. “There might be worse places,” said Bert. “There are no wild beasts or poisonous snakes.” “But it will soon be dark, and we’ve no place to sleep,” responded his sister tremulously. “You wouldn’t mind going to a dance and staying up pretty near all night,” retorted Bert. “Don’t fuss, children; don’t fuss,” urged Hettie. “We’ll manage somehow. What worries me the most is that Mother will be distracted. She’ll think something dreadful has happened, that we’re drowned, or gobbled up by sharks, or some little thing like that.” “Cousin Rindy will be worried, too,” remarked Ellen. “I wish there were some way to let her know we are safe. If we could only broadcast the news, for instance.”