“Your heart is so near right that you don’t need much training.  But it is time for us to return home.”

“How about that picnic on the first of May?”

“My father has consented to it.”

“So have our folks; we will have a glorious time of it.  On Saturday afternoon, if you say so we will visit Center Island, and set the May pole.”

“Agreed.”

“But, Frank, school keeps—­don’t it?”

“Whew! does it?”

“It did last year; but the committee have talked of giving us the day.  I hope they will.  Ask your father; he is one of them.”

“I will.  We can get the point settled before Saturday.”

“I guess so.”

“All aboard!”

The Zephyrs hastened on board, and in a few minutes were out of sight.  The Butterfly was hauled into her berth, everything was made “snug” and tidy, and the boys hastened to their several homes.  Of course it was not easy for them to drive out of their minds the exciting events of the day, and while all of them, except Tony, were sorry they had lost the race, they had much to console them.  They had won a victory over themselves; and the consciousness of this triumph compensated for their disappointment.  Each of them, adopting the sentiment of their heroic young leader, thought what a good fellow Frank Sedley was, and tried to feel glad that he had won.

There was one of them, however, who did not think much about it after he separated from his companions.  Other considerations claimed his attention; and before he reached his humble home, the race was banished from his mind.  He had a sick father, and the family had hard work to get along.  This was Little Paul.

His mother insisted upon sending him to school while there was anything left to procure the necessaries of life; and as there was little for him to do at home, he was allowed to join the club, because his parents knew how much he loved the sports on the lake, and that nothing but good influences would be exerted upon him in the association.

Paul Munroe was a good boy, in every sense of the word; and though he had never been able to do much for his parents, they regarded him none the less as one of their choicest blessings.  As Tony expressed it, Little Paul’s heart was in the right place; and it was a big heart, full of warm blood.

His father sat in an easy-chair by the kitchen stove as he entered, and a smile played upon his pale blue lips as his eyes met the glance of his loving son.

“Well, Paul, did you win the race?” he asked, in feeble tones.

“No, father; the Zephyrs beat.  Frank Sedley rather outgeneraled Tony, and his crew were more used to pulling than we.  But Frank is a first-rate fellow.”

“Isn’t Tony?”

“That he is!  They are both first-rate fellows; I don’t know where there are two other such fellows in the world.”

“You are right, Paul; they are good boys, and we shall be sorry to take you away from them.”