Little Tim, in the grasp of John Hart, was receiving the soundest cuffing and mauling that had ever fallen to his lot in a somewhat varied experience with the world. It had been his misfortune, lying nearest the entrance, to be the one on whom John Hart’s heavy hand had fallen, as he entered, followed by the other three, Harry Brackett bringing up the rear. “Oh, I’ll larn ye to scuttle other people’s boats!” cried John Hart, wrathfully. And he cuffed young Tim again, whereat that youngster howled for mercy. “You’re a coward!” cried Joe Hinman, hotly. “Licking a boy half your size.” “Well, you’re nearer my size,” exclaimed John Hart, dropping Little Tim and making a rush for Joe. They clinched, but the younger boy was no match for Hart, who was, too, reinforced by his three companions. Though it was noticeable that Harry Brackett discreetly held aloof until one of his companions had overpowered an adversary, when he essayed to put in a blow or two. There was no help for them. The boys got what they had expected—and worse. They were soundly thrashed when John Hart and his companions had satisfied their vengeance. “Now, see here,” said John Hart, wrathfully, shaking a rough fist at the boys. “What you have just got is like a fly lighting on you compared to what you’ll get the next time, if you lay another hand on that boat.” “We won’t,” blubbered Little Tim. And he meant it. “Ouch!” groaned Allan Harding, as he tried to rub a dozen places at once with only one pair of hands. “You got us into a nice mess; that’s what you did, Tim.” “Yes,” wailed Little Tim. “But, o-o-h, it’s over now. And,” he added, sniffling and chuckling at the same time, “the boat stays, doesn’t it? You knew we’d catch it, so what’s the use blaming me?” “I didn’t think it would be such a dose,” said Joe Hinman. “But I’ll stand it all right, if Jack only gets here in time. Let’s have something to eat. We’ll feel better.” The yacht _Surprise_ did, sure enough, stay. They had done their part well. Try as best they could, the workers could not fasten her up again before sundown. They finished the job, however, by the aid of a lantern-light, and, taking no more chances, got some pieces of old spars for rollers and dragged the yacht down into the water, where they moored her close to land, a few rods away from the _Seagull_. There was no sleep for the boys that night. They were stiff and sore, for one thing. But it was the last chance for rescue. It was the seventh day since the _Viking_ had sailed away. They took turns watching, away down on the point of the little island, an eighth of a mile below where the _Seagull_ and the _Surprise_ lay. Nor did they watch in vain. Along about eleven o’clock, Little Tim saw the moonlight shining on a familiar sail away down the Thoroughfare.