“Well,” he soliloquized, “my chance of getting a sail-boat this season is rather slim, I’m afraid.  But I’ve made up my mind to have one, and I won’t give it up now.  Let me see!  I wonder how the Sunbeam [meaning his skiff] would sail?  I mean to try her.  No,” he added, on second thought, “she couldn’t carry canvas enough to sail with one of the village yachts.  I have it!” he exclaimed at length, springing to his feet.  “The Speedwell!  I wonder if I couldn’t make a sloop of her.  At any rate, I will get her up into my shop and try it.”

Frank, while he was paying a visit to his cousin in Portland, had witnessed a regatta, in which the Peerless, a large, schooner-rigged scow, had beaten the swiftest yachts of which the city boasted; and he saw no reason why his scow could not do the same.  The idea was no sooner conceived than he proceeded to put it into execution.  He sprang up the bank, with Brave close at his heels, and in a few moments disappeared in the wood-shed.  A large wheelbarrow stood in one corner of the shed, and this Frank pulled from its place, and, after taking off the sides, wheeled it down to the creek, and placed it on the beach, a little distance below the wharf.  He then untied the painter—­a long rope by which the scow was fastened to the wharf—­and drew the scow down to the place where he had left the wheelbarrow.  He stood for some moments holding the end of the painter in his hand, and thinking how he should go to work to get the scow, which was very heavy and unwieldy, upon the wheelbarrow.  But Frank was a true Yankee, and fruitful in expedients, and he soon hit upon a plan, which he was about putting into execution, when a strong, cheery voice called out: 

“Arrah, me boy!  What’ll yer be after doing with the boat?”

Frank looked up and saw Uncle Mike, as the boys called him—­a good-natured Irishman, who lived in a small rustic cottage not far from Mrs. Nelson’s—­coming down the bank.

“Good morning, Uncle Mike,” said Frank, politely accepting the Irishman’s proffered hand and shaking it cordially.  “I want to get this scow up to my shop; but I’m afraid it is a little too heavy for me to manage.”

“So it is, intirely,” said Mike, as he divested himself of his coat, and commenced rolling up his shirt-sleeves.  “Allow me to lend yer a helpin’ hand.”  And, taking the painter from Frank’s hand, he drew the scow out of the water, high upon the bank.  He then placed his strong arms under one side of the boat, and Frank took hold of the other, and, lifting together, they raised it from the ground, and placed it upon the wheelbarrow.  “Now, Master Frank,” said Mike, “if you will take hold and steady her, I’ll wheel her up to the shop for you.”

Frank accordingly placed his hands upon the boat in such a manner that he could keep her steady and assist Mike at the same time; and the latter, taking hold of the “handles,” as he termed them, commenced wheeling her up the bank.  The load was heavy, but Mike was a sturdy fellow, and the scow was soon at the door of the shop.  Frank then placed several sticks of round wood, which he had brought out of the wood-shed, upon the ground, about three feet apart, to serve as rollers, and, by their united efforts, the Speedwell was placed upon her side on these rollers, and in a few moments was left bottom upward on the floor of the shop.