“Look and see if it’s funny,” said Henry Burns, quietly. “I suppose somebody thought it was funny. Those knots didn’t tie themselves.” Harvey examined them, while his face reddened with anger. “I’ll bet I could guess who did that!” he cried. “We’ll attend to his case if you guess right,” responded Henry Burns. The knots certainly could not have caught themselves. There had been design in the act. In two places along the sail, one of the points for the fourth reef had been tied with one of the first. The consequence of this was, that when the united strength of the boys had come to bear directly on these two places, instead of being exerted evenly along the entire sail, the canvas had given away. Harvey clinched his fist for a moment, opened his lips, as though about to give vent to his anger, and then suddenly subsided, with an expression on his face that half-amused Henry Burns. “Say, Henry,” he said, “I’ve played the same kind of a joke myself before this, so I guess I might as well grin and bear it. But,” he continued, doubling up his fist once more, “perhaps I won’t take it out of that young Harry Brackett just the same, if I find out he did it.” Henry Burns smiled assent. “Never mind,” he said. “We can mend the tears so they won’t show much.” They untied the knots, raised the sail, and let it dry while they ate their supper. “Say, Tim,” said Harvey, an hour later, as they stood on shore by Tom and Bob’s tent, where the campers from down below had also assembled, “will you do something for me?” “Sure,” replied Little Tim. “What is it?” “Well, we want you to stay out aboard the _Viking_ while we go up the cove and get the _Surprise_ off and float her around,” said Harvey. “You see, Henry and I have decided not to leave the _Viking_ deserted at night after this—that is, unless we have to. But what we want to-night particularly is for you to stay aboard and keep watch, and see if you notice Harry Brackett around the shore or the wharf, looking off toward the _Viking_. He’s played us a fine trick, and made us tear our mainsail—that is, we think he did it. But whoever it was will probably be around to see if the trick worked. You don’t mind, do you?” “No-o-o,” answered Tim; “but don’t fire the cannon till you get around the point.” “We won’t,” said Harvey. “Here’s the key to the cabin.” Little Tim rowed out aboard. It seemed, however, as though his vigil was to be a fruitless one. Certainly, Harry Brackett failed to put in an appearance. Little Tim stretched himself out on the seat and waited impatiently. “I don’t see what Jack wanted to make me stay here for,” he remarked, when eight o’clock had come and gone and it was close upon nine, and the moon was rising. Presently, however, he sat up and listened. Yes, there was somebody rowing out from shore. Tim strained his eyes eagerly. Then shortly he made out a somewhat familiar figure. “Hello, Mr. Carleton,” he called; “I thought they said you were going up to the launching.”