“Your lines are strong,” said Adam, “and your hooks pretty good-sized, but if we were comin’ out o’ purpose for channel-bass, we’d have heavier tackle. But it would be hard work to haul in a feller like this with any line, if you didn’t play him right.” After being pulled into the boat, the great bass did not struggle as long as some of the smaller fish they had caught, and he soon lay quiet and dead. The boys rolled up their lines, for there were no more bites, and it was agreed that, having found out what a channel-bass was, they ought to be satisfied. “Is the fish good to eat?” said Phil. “Tip-top,” answered Adam. “We’ll cover him up and take him along, and we can have steaks enough for supper to-night and to-morrow’s breakfast, and plenty left for the birds besides.” “Well,” cried Chap, who had been standing in a reflective mood, “this is the way things always happen. Here is Phœnix, who didn’t want to stop and fish, and who grumbled and croaked, and didn’t believe there were any fish in the river, even after he got to work; and _he_ must catch the channel-bass, while Phil and I, who were in for the thing from the beginning, and full of honest ardor, didn’t get a bite. Haul up the sails and pull in the anchor, and let us away! It’s no use struggling against blind luck. Virtue and enthusiasm don’t count.” This speech was received with a wild laugh, and with four merry hearts and a big fish on board, The Rolling Stone set out again upon her northward course. Adam knew exactly where he intended to camp that night, and before dark he reached the beach of a little bay upon the eastern shore of the river. After a hearty supper, of which channel-bass was the principal dish, and a talk by the camp-fire while Adam smoked his evening pipe, our party made everything secure for the night, and were soon asleep in their little cabin. Chap, as we have said before, was a very early riser, and the next morning he awoke and slipped quietly out of his narrow quarters without awakening any of his companions. As he gazed around with great delight upon the beautiful morning scene, he saw, scarcely a hundred feet from the spot where they were moored, a dirty little boat anchored near the shore. “Upon--my--word,” said Chap to himself, “if that Maggie hasn’t put in here in the night!” [Illustration] CHAPTER XVIII. CHAP BOARDS THE MAGGIE. When Chap Webster stood alone on the deck of The Rolling Stone in the bright, cool air of the early morning and gazed at the dirty little sail-boat, which lay near the shore a short distance above, his feelings were of a very confused nature. At first he was simply astonished to see the Maggie lying so near them. He had supposed that the fellows who had stolen the boat would be afraid to come near the people they had injured. But, after all, it was no use to be surprised at the impudence of such men. For some reason or other they had stolen in here, either at night or very early in the morning.