As the second man sprang overboard from the launch on which the children had taken refuge Mollie came from her hiding place. She was back again, at last, in her proper sphere in life. The faint recollections of her early childhood when she had made a "play-house" in her father's discarded boat came suddenly before her with startling vividness. The intervening years seemed more like a bad dream--a night-mare. She did not realize that she had grown considerably in the interval, that the little, fragile creature of the long ago was now almost a young woman, that she had missed much of her childhood by having responsibilities heaped upon her and by the farm work she had done. She only knew that she was free at last to play again, to have a good time, to laugh and make the children laugh and to actually sail in a boat instead of make believe. She called the children to come out from where they had been concealed and rushed, herself, to grasp that crazily acting wheel. She had watched the man just long enough to have an idea it was an easy task and one which she would much enjoy performing. But it was not so easy as it looked. My, but she had to hold on, with all her might. Well, her arms were strong. She was equal to the tugging. But which way ought it to go? She gave it a whirl to the left. The boat veered so suddenly that the assembled children, watching her movements with curious, excited eyes, went tumbling like nine-pins to the deck. They scrambled up laughing. Mollie whirled the big wheel to the right. Again the children went down. This time two of them received bumps. "Cain't yo' make hit stand still?" asked one of the older boys. "Lemme help." Mollie declined assistance. "Hit's all right," she assured them. "Thet's th' way boats act up. You-uns set down in a row an' watch me. We'll git some place ef thet boat'll only git outten th' way. Whut's thet man holler'n 'bout, Willie?" "He's flingin' sumpin' over ter them fellers whut jumped off'n this boat. An' now--look but, Mollie! He's shootin' at 'em." As he spoke, two shots rang out in rapid succession. The black mustached man who was swimming toward shore was seen to throw up his firms and go down under water. The other man was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly he came up some distance ahead, looked about wildly, flung his arms above his head and shrieked for aid. Then he, too, disappeared. "I reckon he hed a cramp," said Willie. But the man with the revolver who stood in the front of the other boat was now leveling it at Mollie. He shouted to her to stop the boat. Mollie's cheeks were crimson from her exertions. Her eyes were dancing with their old-time roguishness. Her voice sounded across the water as clear and resonant as a bell when she called her reply: "I cain't stop hit. I dunno whut ter do with hit. This dum wheel keeps right on a-goin'."