“Pushin’ things an’ liftin’ things an’ loadin’ things—dat’s a cullud pusson’s nachel-bawn job,” Little Bit chuckled. “’Tain’t no trouble fer a nigger to think up dat.” “Let’s get this door on the truck and move our raft,” Org urged. It was not hard to do. The pine door was not very heavy, and from the time they got it out of the building, the route was down hill to the edge of the pond. They pushed the truck into the water, easily floated the door off, and then tugged mightily to drag the truck back to the empty storehouse again. They found two long poles which would serve to steer with, and raced back to the edge of the pond and climbed aboard their raft. The door sustained them just as long as most of their weight was on their poles, and they were trying to push off. At last they worked their raft out to about four feet of water and felt free to lift their steering-poles and ride. Then that door slowly sank under their weight until the water was up to their knees, to their waists, to their shoulders. It stopped in its downward journey when it rested on the sandy bottom, and the two lads stood on it, looking at each other with the utmost astonishment, raising their chins to keep the water out of their mouths. “You done got yo’ nice Sunday clothes all wet,” Little Bit sighed. “Yours are wet, too,” Org retorted. “Dis here is my eve’y-day suit. I ain’t got no all-Sonday gyarments. I wears dese ladylike clothes all de time.” “I’m sorry you spoilt your only suit,” Org sympathized. “’Tain’t spiled—it’s jes’ wet,” Little Bit replied. “Whut is us gwine do now?” “We’re both wet. We might as well have a good time,” Org suggested philosophically. “I likes good times an’ dis’n is started off real good,” Little Bit laughed. “You git offen dis ole door an’ le’s see ef it will hold me up.” VII LOST BOYS About four o’clock that afternoon somebody in the Gaitskill home asked where Orren Randolph Gaitskill was. He had not been seen since he left the house that morning to attend the Sunday-school. Miss Virginia Gaitskill called Captain Kerley Kerlerac on the telephone and asked if Orren had been in his class that morning. When a devilish boy happens to be the brother of an angelic girl, even a disillusioned war-veteran finds that lad possessed of qualities which he loves and admires for the boy’s sister’s sake. Kerlerac informed her that he had missed Orren very much, that he was the brightest boy in his class, that all the others had made anxious inquiry about him, that he was about to call at the Gaitskill home to inquire if Orren was sick. The answer which he heard to this panegyric was a giggle. “Hello! Hello! What’s that?” he exclaimed. The telephone clicked in his ear, indicating that she had hung up the receiver. Kerley stood at the telephone scratching his head, a wry smile on his lips.