Steadily and surely the _Gleam_ drifted downward. In another fifteen minutes she would be in the remorseless grasp of the rapids. The wind went down almost to a calm, but the current grew stronger, so that there was no slacking of her speeding toward destruction. The boys held desperately on to the keel, saying nothing to each other, but praying as best each could. On, on the boat moved. Oh, was there no chance of help? Must they go down, to death in sight of so many homes? A couple of hundred yards above the rapids was a floating stage, strongly moored, which was used by the men looking after the saw-logs that came down the river in great droves from time to time. As they neared this a bright thought flashed into Mort’s mind. "Say, boys," he cried, "I’ve got it! Do you see that float? Let’s push the _Gleam_ over to it." The others caught the idea at once. All getting on the same side of the boat, they proceeded to push her toward the stage by swimming with their legs. It was exhausting work, but they were encouraged by seeing that they were making headway, and they persevered until at last success crowned their efforts, and with a glad cry of relief Mort crawled upon the stage and fastened to it the boat’s painter. All actual danger was now over, and at once Mort regained his self-possession. Under his directions the masts were taken out, the boat righted and bailed dry, and everything stowed snugly aboard. Then with the oars she was rowed back to Deschenes, not a whit the worse for her wetting. As soon as his uncle returned, Mort told him the whole story. Mr. Turner was very sorry to learn of his nephew’s breach of trust, and, as a penalty therefor, withdrew from him for the rest of the summer the privilege of taking the boat out alone, which was a sore deprivation; but Mort felt that it was richly deserved, and it only strengthened his resolution to be more obedient to orders in the future. *FOUND AFTER MANY DAYS.* "Edie! Edie!" rang out in a clear, strong voice from the door of a farmhouse, where stood a comely, brown-faced woman, shading her eyes with her right hand, as she swept the sunny space around in search of her daughter. "I’m coming, mother," was the prompt response. And the next instant there appeared from behind the barn a little girl not more than eight years old, who looked the very picture of health and happiness. "You know where your father’s chopping to-day, don’t you, Edie?" asked Mrs. Hazen, with a glance of affectionate pride at the sturdy little figure before her. "Oh yes, mother," replied Edie, swinging around and pointing with her plump forefinger, stained by the juice of the raspberries she had just been picking, to the top of the hill that sloped upwards from the other side of the road. "Father’s over there in the back pasture, near the blackberry patch."