“He is the man who is to see about our canal boat,” answered Phil, as though they were already in possession.

Madge had gone forward.  “Have you found the boat for us?” she inquired.  “I simply can’t wait to find out.”

The man grinned.  “There is one towed alongside of mine that you might be able to git.  I had a hard time finding it.”

“That is all right,” declared Jack, stepping forward, “you will be paid for your work.  Will you please take us out to look at the boat?”

“Got to cross my shanty to git to it,” the man replied, leading the way across a rickety gang-plank.

There were three or four dirty children playing on the deck of his boat and a thin, yellow dog.  At the open door of the shanty kitchen stood the figure of a girl.  She had on the faded calico dress of the day before; she was barefooted and her hair was ragged and unkempt.  But as Jack Bolling and the four girls glanced idly at her a start of surprise ran through each one of these.  Jack stopped for an instant, and instinctively took off his hat.  Phil Alden whispered in Madge’s ear, “I never saw any one so beautiful in my life,” and Madge mutely agreed.

The girl was smiling a wistful, far-away smile that was very touching.  Her hair was the color of copper that has been burnished by the sun, and her eyes were the deep blue of the midsummer sky.  The wind and sun had tanned the girl’s cheeks, but her skin was still fine and delicate.  There was a strange, vacant expression in her eyes and a pathetic droop to her whole figure.

“Git you back in there, Moll,” the owner of the shanty boat called out roughly.  The girl started and quivered, as though she expected a blow.  Jack’s face turned hot with anger.  But what could he do?  The man was talking to his own daughter.

“Why did you speak to the poor girl like that?” asked Madge sharply.

“She ain’t all right in the top story,” the man answered.  “She is kind of foolish.  I have to keep a close watch on her.”

Madge turned pitying eyes on the demented girl, then as they stepped aboard the other canal boat, for the time she forgot the lovely apparition she had just seen.

“How much will the owner rent this boat for?” Madge asked at last, trying hard to conceal her enthusiasm.  The boat was dirty and needed renovating, but it was well built of good, strong timbers.

“My friend is willing to sell this here boat for a hundred dollars,” said the fisherman, Mike Muldoon, hesitating as he mentioned the sum.

It was all Madge could do to keep from clapping her hands for joy.  One hundred dollars for the boat—­that left another hundred for painting and remodeling and for other necessary expenses.

Just as Madge was about to close with the man’s offer a look from Jack Bolling interrupted her.

“The boat is not worth a hundred dollars,” he declared decisively.  “The young lady will give you fifty dollars for it, and not a cent more.”