[Illustration:  Then my arm must have slipped—­and the side clinch wa’n’t disturbed.]

Some chat too!  I don’t know when we’ve had a chance for any such a good long talk as that, and we both seemed to have a lot of conversation stored up.  Then we chucked pebbles into the water, and Vee pulls some seaweed and decorates my round hat.  You know?  It’s easy killin’ time when you’re paired off right.  And the first thing we knows the fog begins to lighten and the sun almost breaks through.  We hurries back to where Mabel’s just rousin’ from a doze.

“Well?” says she.

“It’s a tiny little island we’re on,” says Vee.

“Nice little island, though,” says I.

“Hey!” sings out Payne, pokin’ his head up over the rocks.  “I’ve been calling and calling.”

“We’ve been explorin’,” says I.  “Got her fixed yet?”

“Hang it, no!” growls Payne, scrubbin’ cotton waste over his forehead.  “And the fog’s beginning to lift.  Why, there’s the shore, and—­and—­well, what do you think of that?  We’re on Grampus Ledges, not a mile from home!”

Sure enough, there was Roarin’ Rocks just showin’ up.

“Now if I could only start this confounded engine!” says he, starin’ down at it puzzled.

By this time Vee and Mabel appears, and of course Mabel wants to know what’s the matter.

“I’m sure I can’t tell,” says Payne, sighin’ hopeless.

“Wirin’ all right, is it?” says I, climbin’ in and lookin’ scientific.  And—­would you believe it?—­I only paws around a minute or so before I finds a loose magneto connection, hooks it up proper, and remarks casual, “Now let’s try her.”

Pur-r-r-r-r!  Off she goes.  “There!” exclaims Mabel.  “I shall never go out again unless William is along.  He’s so handy!”

Say, she stuck to it.  Four days I was chief engineer of the Vixen—­and, take it from me, they was perfectly good days.  No more fog.  No rain.  Just shoolin’ around in fair weather, makin’ excursions here and there, with Vee trippin’ down to the dock every day in a fresher and newer yachtin’ costume, and lookin’ pinker and sweeter every trip.

Course, as regards a certain other party, it was a case of artistic dodgin’ for me between times.  You got to admit, though, that it wa’n’t a fair test for Aunty.  I had her off her guard.  Might have been diff’rent too, if she’d cared for motorboatin’.  So maybe I got careless.  I remember once passin’ Aunty right in the path, as I’m luggin’ some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist the basket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along.

Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run to Damariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein’ us off.  All the rest was wavin’; so just for sport I takes off my hat and waves too, grinnin’ humorous at Vee as I makes the play.  But, say, next time I looks back she’s up on the veranda with the fieldglasses trained on us.  I keeps my hat on after that.  My kind of red hair is prominent enough to the naked eye at almost any distance—­but with fieldglasses!  Good night!