“Indeed, no! Look!” cried Betty, as she released the throttle control that connected the gasoline supply with the motor. At once, as when the accelerator pedal of an auto is pressed, the engine hummed and throbbed, and a mass of foam appeared at the stern to show the presence of the whirling propeller. “That’s fine!” cried Grace, as Betty slowed down once more. “I thought we’d take it easy,” the Little Captain went on, “as we don’t want to finish our cruise in one day, or even two. If I drove the _Gem_ to the limit, we’d be in Rainbow Lake, and out of it, in too short a time. So I planned to go down the river slowly, stop at noon and go ashore for our lunch, go on slowly again, and tie up for the night.” “Then we’re going to sleep aboard?” asked Grace. “Of course! What would be the fun of having bunks if we didn’t use them? Of course we’ll sleep here.” “And stand watches—and all that sort of thing, the way your uncle told of it being done aboard ships?” Mollie wanted to know. “There’ll be no need of that,” declared Betty. “But we can leave a light burning.” “To scare away sharks?” asked Amy, with a laugh. “No, but if we didn’t some one passing might think the boat deserted and—come aboard to take things.” “I hope they don’t take us!” cried Mollie. “I’m going to hide my new bracelet,” and she looked at the sparkling trinket on her wrist. “Amy, want to steer?” asked Grace, after a while, and the girl of mystery agreed eagerly. But she nearly came to grief within a few minutes. A canoeist rather rashly crossed the bows of the _Gem_ at no great distance. “Port! Port!” cried Betty, suddenly, seeing the danger. “Which is port—right or left? I’ve forgotten!” wailed Amy, helplessly. “To the left! To the left!” answered Betty, springing forward. She was not in time to prevent Amy from turning the wheel to the left, which had the effect of swinging the boat to the right, and almost directly toward the canoeist, who shouted in alarm. But by this time Betty had reached the wheel, and twirled it rapidly. She was only just in time, and the _Gem_ fairly grazed the canoe, the wash from the propeller rocking it dangerously. “We beg your pardon!” called Betty to the young man in the frail craft. “That’s all right,” he said, pleasantly. “It was my own fault.” “Thank you,” spoke Amy, gratefully. “Here, Bet, I don’t want to steer any more.” “No, keep the wheel. You may as well learn, and I’ll stand by you. No telling when you may have to steer all alone.” They stopped for lunch in a pretty little grove, and sat and talked for an hour afterward. Mollie hunted up a telephone and got into communication with her house. She came back looking rather sober. “The specialist says Dodo will have to undergo an operation,” she reported. Grace gasped, and the others looked worried. “It isn’t serious,” continued Mollie, “and he says she will surely be better after it. But of course mamma feels dreadful about it.”