"Go on and win, old chap," said Frank to Jack, when the latter came up to him. "I’m used up. I’ll just paddle in slowly. Oh, I’m all right," he added, as Jack showed signs of stopping to help him, "Tired out, that’s all." Cheer after cheer rang out as Jack, nearly exhausted himself, but undaunted in spirit, swept by Frank, now paddling quite leisurely, and finished the course amidst a general chorus of congratulation. He felt as proud as Punch, and when Frank came ashore, threw his arms around him affectionately, saying,— "You’re a dear, good fellow to let me beat you." Not that he had the slightest suspicion as to how it had really happened. Frank never told him. Indeed he never told anybody except his mother, and she alone of all the people who witnessed it knew the secret of Frank Brookfield’s sudden collapse in the swimming match at the Arm. *HAROLD’S LASTING IMPRESSION.* "Harold, Harold, Harold!" cried Mrs. Owen, at the top of her clear, strong voice, her anxiety increasing as no answer came back. "Mercy on me! what can have become of that boy? As sure as anything, he has gone down to the wharf again—and after all that I have said to him too. I do wish something would make a lasting impression upon him." And with a feeling of uneasiness she could not shake off, the troubled mother went back to her house-work, sighing over her boy’s disobedience. Now Harold Owen was not really a bad boy. He loved his mother dearly, and always felt sorry when he had grieved her; but he was such a thoughtless little chap. Eight years old last October; stout, cheery, and brave; full to overflowing of animal spirits; eager to do everything he saw the older boys doing, and always wanting to be with them; quite as heedless and forgetful as he was affectionate and obliging, sturdy little Hal was just the kind of boy to make a mother whose only child he was no less anxious than proud about him. And in these lovely summer days, when nobody wanted to be indoors between daylight and dark, except to eat their meals, poor Mrs. Owen had her hands full in trying to keep track of her son, who would stray off in spite of her orders to stay near home. You see, Harold did not just mean to flatly disobey his mother. For days together he would do exactly what she told him, and make her very happy. But every now and then some of the boys in the neighbourhood—Jack Hardie, perhaps, or Frank Lawson—would come along, and get talking with Hal over the garden fence; and as sure as they did, it ended in the little fellow’s forgetting all about his mother’s commands, and going off to the wharves, where sometimes he stayed so long as to give his mother quite a fright.