"We'll unpack our things first," said Sammy. "Then I'll rig up a fish-line. We'll have to catch fish to help out with the rest of the grub," added the practical youngster. "But not with worms!" cried Dot, with a shudder. "If you bring any of those horrid, squirmy worms aboard this boat, I--I'll just go right home and not be pirates any more." "Oh! All right," said the scornful Sammy, who found "female pirates" rather more trying than he had supposed. "I'll fish with grasshoppers." "We-ell," agreed Dot. "Only don't let 'em jump on me. For if they do I'll scream-- I know I shall, Sammy." "Pooh! Pirates don't scream," growled the boy. "Not--not even girl pirates?" "No," said the boy doggedly. "'Taint the thing to do. We got to be real savage and--" "Oh, but, Sammy!" gasped the little girl, "I couldn't be savage to a grasshopper." However, they unpacked their provisions and arranged them on a board. Dot really could not keep her finger off that mellow peach. "I don't believe Ruthie would mind," she said at last. "And, anyway, it's getting so juicy that maybe it wouldn't be good by the time we got home--" "Don't I tell you we ain't going home no more!" demanded Sammy. "Er--well, then I guess we'd better eat the peach to save it," said the little girl, with some hesitancy. "You cut it in half, Sammy," she added with more decision. Inroads were made upon most of the other provisions within the first hour. For, indeed, what else is there more interesting in being pirates than using up the food laid in for a voyage? Sammy had spent his two dollars with the cheerfulness and judgment of a sailor ashore with his pay in his pocket. And he did not propose to let any greedy little girl eat her share and his own of their stock. Several times Sammy ran up the ladder to examine the vicinity of the _Nancy Hanks_, as the battered old canalboat was named--its title being painted in big letters along either side of the decked-over cabin, which was a little higher than the remainder of the deck--but the pirate chief sighted no prey on the canal. The waters of that raging main seemed deserted of all craft whatsoever. Suddenly, however, he sighted an approaching group. It came from the direction of the blacksmith shop. The mules they had seen waiting to be shod ambled ahead at a pace warranted to bring them to the towpath in time. Behind, at the same gait, came a tall, shambling man, what appeared to be a girl some twelve years of age in tattered calico, and shoeless, and a droop-eared, forlorn, yellow hound. "Hist!" said Sammy, down the well of the hold. Dot did not know just what to reply to this thrilling summons, but she ventured to ask: "Do you want to say something to me, Sammy Pinkney? For if you do, you can." "Hist! Keep quiet," ordered the pirate chief. "They're--they're in the offing."