"It ought to make a difference to you," said Euphemia. "They might injure us very much." "If they tried anything of the kind," I replied, "they'd find it worse for them than for us." "That is boasting," said Euphemia, a little reproachfully, "and it does not sound like you." I made no answer to this, and then she asked:-- "What do you think they will do when they come?" "I think they will put a plank out here and pull us out." Euphemia looked at me an instant, and then her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "it's dreadful! You know they couldn't do it. Your mind is giving way!" She sobbed, and I could feel the tremor run through the pelican. "What do you mean?" I cried, anxiously. "My mind giving way?" "Yes--yes," she sobbed. "If you were in your right senses--you'd never think--that pelicans could bring a plank." I looked at her in astonishment. "Pelicans!" I exclaimed. "Did you think I meant the pelicans were coming back?" "Of course," she said. "That's what I was asking you about." "I wasn't thinking of pelicans at all," I answered "I was talking of the people in the yacht." Euphemia looked at me, and then the little pelican between us began to shake violently as we laughed. "I know people sometimes do lose their minds when they get into great danger," she said, apologetically. "Hello!" came a voice from the water. "What are you laughing about?" "Come and see," I shouted back, "and perhaps you will laugh, too." The three men came; they had to wade ashore; and when they came they laughed. They brought a plank, and with a good deal of trouble they drew us out, but Euphemia would not let go of her leg of the little pelican until she was sure I had a tight hold of mine. Day after day we now sailed northward, until we reached the little town at which we had embarked. Here we discarded our blue flannels and three half-grown beards, and slowly made our way through woods and lakes and tortuous streams to the upper waters of the St. John's. In this region the population of the river shores seemed to consist entirely of alligators, in which monsters Euphemia was greatly interested. But she seldom got a near view of one, for the sportsmen on our little steamer blazed away at every alligator as soon as it came into distant sight; and, although the ugly creatures were seldom hit, they made haste to tumble into the water or disappear among the tall reeds. Euphemia was very much annoyed at this. "I shall never get a good close look at an alligator at all," she said. "I am going to speak to the captain." The captain, a big, good-natured man, listened to her, and entirely sympathized with her. "Tom," said he to the pilot, "when you see another big 'gator on shore, don't sing out to nobody, but call me, and slow up." It was not long before chocolate-colored Tom called to the captain, and rang the bell to lessen speed.