“N—­no—­hardly,” murmured Bob.

“The Jolly Sail—­I have it:  the Jolly Pioneer!”

“Hurrah!” cried Jim.  “The very thing!”

“Yes, I guess that fits pretty well,” acknowledged Rob.

“It’s capital!” volunteered Leo.

And so the matter was finally settled.  The Jolly Pioneer was still destitute of paint, but the boys were in so great a hurry to launch her that they decided not to delay on this account.  They carried her down to the creek, and by means of a board slid her into the water.  Jack got into the boat first, while the others held the side close to the bank.  After him came Rob.  Jim and Leo were to follow, but the Jolly Pioneer seemed to have dwindled in size, and did not look half so big or imposing as when in the barn.

“Hold on!” cried Jack.  “I’m afraid you will be too heavy.  It won’t do to crowd at first.  We’ll just row gently with the current a short distance, and then come back and let you have a turn.”

Though disappointed, the little fellows did not demur, but handed him the oars, and waited to see the two boys glide away.  But, alas! though the Jolly Pioneer moved a little, it was not with the freedom and confidence which was to be expected of her in her native element.  She seemed to shrink and falter, “as if afraid of getting wet,” as Jim laughingly declared.

“Hello! what’s that?” exclaimed Rob, as he felt something cold at his feet.  He looked down:  his shoes were thoroughly wet; the water was coming in through the crevices of the boat.

“Pshaw!” cried Jack.  “That is because it is new yet; when the wood is soaked it will swell a bit.  Hurry and bail out the water, though.”

“But we haven’t anything to do it with,” returned Rob, helplessly.

“Oh, take your hat, man!  A fine sailor you’d make!” Jack answered, setting the example by dipping in his own old felt.  Rob’s was a new straw yet.  Unfortunately for its appearance during the remainder of the summer, he did not think of this, but immediately went to work.  Their efforts were of no use:  the Jolly Pioneer sank slowly but surely.

“Don’t give up the ship!” cried Jack, melodramatically.

So as neither of the boys attempted to get out, and thus lessen the weight, down, down it went, till it reached the pebbly bed of the creek, and they found themselves—­still in the boat to be sure, but standing up to their waists in water.  The worst of the mortification was that the little fellows, high and dry on the bank, were choking with laughter, which finally could no longer be suppressed, and broke forth in a merry peal.

“What do you want to stand there guffawing for?” called Jack, ill-naturedly.  “Why don’t you try to get the oars?”

Thus made to realize that they might be of some assistance, Jim and Leo waded in heroically, unmindful of the effect upon shoes, stockings, and clothing generally, and rescued the oars, of which poor Jack had carelessly relaxed his hold in the effort to bail out the boat, and which were being carried swiftly away by the current.