“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Brewer, “you can call her what you please, so long as you don’t name her after Mrs. Brewer.” The boys heartily agreed to this restriction, and a variety of names was now proposed; but after a time, the boys concluded that a title suggested by Phœnix was the jolliest and most suitable name for their boat, and they agreed to call her “The Rolling Stone.” “That’s a mighty queer name for a boat,” said Mr. Brewer. “It seems like it would sink her.” “But you needn’t keep it after we’ve done with her,” said Phil. “I don’t think I will,” said Mr. Brewer. And Adam, who had declared the name decidedly un-nautical and with something of an unlucky sound about it, said that after all he reckoned it didn’t matter much what the boat’s name was, provided they had a good wind. The next morning, after an early breakfast, provisions and a small keg of fresh water were put aboard; the baggage of the voyagers was safely stowed away; a double-barrelled gun, which had been hired of Mr. Brewer, was hung on a couple of little hooks inside the cabin, with the powder-flask and shot-pouch gracefully dangling beneath it; our party got on board, the sails were run up, and with a parting cheer to Mr. Brewer and three of his children, who stood on the bank of the little creek, and to Mrs. Brewer and the other child, who looked out from behind a half-opened shutter, The Rolling Stone was brought around to the wind, and sailed away on a long tack up the Indian River. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. THE TWO ORPHANS. The day was bright and beautiful, there was a fair wind, and The Rolling Stone, bending gently away from the breeze, sailed gayly over the rippling water. Adam was at the helm, and the boys were making themselves comfortable in various parts of the little craft, and enjoying to the utmost the delightful air and the bright sunshine. “I tell you what it is, boys!” cried Chap, who was stretched at full length on top of the little cabin, relying on Adam to give him notice when the boat was to be put about and the boom would swing around, “do you know I’d be as happy as a king if I felt sure our folks wouldn’t be worried about us?” “I don’t think we need worry about them,” said Phil, “for that hunting man said he’d be at Sanford before long, and then all our folks will hear from us just as quick as the telegraph can carry word to them.” “There’s a comfort in that,” said Chap. And Phœnix suggested that they might as well be as jolly as the law allowed. Adam made no remark upon the subject. He knew very well that it might take the sportsman a week, or perhaps longer, to reach the point from which he was to send the telegram he carried, but he wisely concluded that it would be of no use to dampen the spirits of his young companions, and that it would be better for all hands that they should be lively and cheerful.