The boys readily agreed to this proposal, and, after a few moments’ more conversation, they got into their skiff and pulled down the creek.  The next morning, about four o’clock, Frank awoke, and he had hardly opened his eyes before he was out on the floor and dressing.  He always rose at this hour, both summer and winter; and he had been so long in the habit of it, that it had become a kind of second nature with him.  Going to the window, he drew aside the curtain and looked out.  The Speedwell rode safely at the wharf, gallantly mounting the swells which were raised by quite a stiff breeze that was blowing directly down the creek.  He amused himself for about two hours in his shop; and after he had eaten his breakfast, he began to get ready to start on the proposed excursion.  A large basket, filled with refreshments, was carefully stowed away in one of the lockers of the Speedwell, the sails were hoisted, the painter was cast off, and Frank took his seat at the helm, and the boat moved from the shore “like a thing of life.”  The creek was too narrow to allow of much maneuvering, and Frank was obliged to forbear judging of her sailing qualities until he should reach the river.  But, to his delight, he soon discovered one thing, and that was, that before the wind the Speedwell was no mean sailer.  A few moments’ run brought him to Mr. Butler’s wharf, where he found George and Harry waiting for him.  Frank brought the Speedwell around close to the place where they were standing in splendid style, and the boys could not refrain from expressing their admiration at the handsome manner in which she obeyed her helm.  They clambered down into the boat, and seated themselves on the middle thwarts, where they could assist Frank in managing the sails, and in a few moments they reached the river.

“There comes Bill Johnson!” exclaimed George, suddenly, “just behind the Long Dock.”

The boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw the top of the masts and sails of a boat which was moving slowly along on the other side of the dock.

“Now, Frank,” said Harry, “turn out toward the middle of the river, and get as far ahead of him as you can, and see if we can’t reach the island [meaning Strawberry Island] before he does.”

Frank accordingly turned the Speedwell’s head toward the island, and just at that moment the sail-boat came in sight.  The Champion—­for that was her name—­was classed among the swiftest sailers about Lawrence; in fact, there was no sloop that could beat her.  She was a clinker-built boat, about seventeen feet long, and her breadth of beam—­that is, the distance across her from one side to the other—­was great compared with her length.  She was rigged like Frank’s boat, having one mast and carrying a mainsail and jib; but as her sails were considerably larger than those of the Speedwell, and as she was a much lighter boat, the boys all expected that she would reach the island, which the young skippers always regarded as “home” in their races, long before the Speedwell.  The Champion was sailed by two boys.  William Johnson, her owner, sat in the stern steering, and Ben.  Lake, a quiet, odd sort of a boy, sat on one of the middle thwarts managing the sails.  As soon as she rounded the lock, Harry Butler sprang to his feet, and, seizing a small coil of rope that lay in the boat, called out,