“Yep,” the boy returned.

“Then, perhaps, you know what has become of our boat,” suggested Phil.

“Yep,” answered the voice from the tree, “I know all about it.”

“Then tell us this minute what has become of it!” ordered Madge.  “I knew the moment I saw you that you were the very imp of mischief.  Tell us where our boat is at once.”

“I won’t tell,” the urchin spoke firmly.

“You shall,” declared Madge, her eyes flashing.

“I’d like to see you make me tell,” dared the boy.  “A girl can’t climb a tree.”  The grin on his impish face widened.

“I’ll show you that a girl can climb a tree, young man,” exclaimed Madge hotly, making her way toward the tree.  “I have climbed a good many more trees than you have ever climbed in your life.”

“Listen to me, Madge,” admonished Phil, laughing at her friend, “you can’t have a fight with a small boy in the top of a tree or shake him out of it.  Don’t allow him to tease you.  Let’s go on into the village and get a policeman.  Then, if the boy really knows anything about the disappearance of our houseboat, the policeman will make him tell us.”  Phil tried to make her voice sound as threatening as possible when she mentioned the word “policeman.”

“I won’t be here when you git back,” was the imp’s cheerful response.

Madge and Phil paid no further heed to him.  They went on toward the town.  A few yards farther on they heard the patter of bare feet.  “Can’t you wait a minute?” a voice pleaded.  “I was only teasing you.  If you promise you won’t give me away, I’ll tell you what became of your old boat.  My pa took it.”

“Your pa?” cried Madge in surprise.  “What do you mean?”

“When I told Pa I’d seen a new-fangled kind of a boat hitched to our post, where we most generally ties up our own boat, he said you hadn’t no right to be there.  So he just hitched up our mule and he come down here and untied your boat and dragged it up shore.  I run after him until I got too tired.  Then I come back here to tell you,” ended the boy.

“Where is your father?” Phil asked quietly.  Madge’s eyes were flashing dangerously, her temper was rising.

“He’s cutting hay,” the boy returned.  “I’ll show you the field and then I’ll run.”

Lillian and Eleanor had now joined the two girls to find out what was delaying them.  Miss Jones still waited, disconsolate, under the willow tree.  The four girls started out behind the one small boy, who answered to the name of Bill Jenkins, Jr.  It was evident that Bill Jenkins, Sr., was the name of the boat-thief.

“What shall we say and do when we find the man?” asked Eleanor anxiously.  “I suppose we had no right to tie our boat up at his landing place without asking permission.”

Madge shook her head angrily.  “Right or no right, I shall certainly tell him my opinion of him,” she said tensely.