“Listen,” she said.  “I came across an old derelict of a rowboat the other day when we were exploring the upper river, but I didn’t say anything to you girls about it because I thought it was too much of a wreck to bother with.  For all I know it isn’t even water tight

“Betty,” Mollie broke in excitedly, “I see what you mean!  We can row across the upper river to where Professor Dempsey is—­ Were there oars in the boat?” she broke off to ask.

“A couple of old sticks that would serve for oars,” Betty answered.  “Of course it’s taking a big chance——­”

“Say no more,” cried Mollie, jumping to her feet and wringing out her bathing suit.  “Big chance is our middle name anyway.  Lead on, Betty.  Where do we find this craft?”

“I’m not quite sure that I can find it,” said Betty, leading the way into the woods, “but it was down this way somewhere.  Don’t make any noise, girls, and let’s hurry, or we won’t get there before he disappears again.”

Grace and Amy were now entering into the spirit of the thing, and they followed at Betty’s heels eagerly, careful not to step on stick or stone that might betray their presence.

Luckily Betty managed to stumble directly on the old derelict rowboat where it lay in ancient helplessness in the concealment of a thick grove of bushes along the upper reach of the stream.

“Goody!  This is almost too much luck,” cried Betty exultantly.  “You get in the stern, Amy, and Grace in the bow.  Mollie and I will do the rowing.”

“I only hope the old thing doesn’t take in too much water,” said Amy, as she and Grace got gingerly into the rickety old craft and Betty and Mollie pushed it off from the shore.

“That remains to be seen,” answered the Little Captain as she handed one of the ancient oars to Mollie.  “There is one thing we shall have to remember, Mollie,” she said, as they pushed clear of the bank and glided out into the swift water of the river, “and that is to keep far enough this side of the falls to guard against being swept over it.  Bear hard on your right hand, Mollie honey.  It wouldn’t be much fun if we upset here, you know.”

“Oh!” gasped Grace, holding fast to the side of the boat and noting with dismay how plainly the roar of the falls came to them.  “I wish we had another oar, I’d help—­”

“You can help most, Gracie,” cut in the Little Captain briskly, “by keeping your nerve and helping us to keep ours.  Mollie,” she called in a whisper that carried the length of the boat, “can you see—­ It—­ yet?”

“Yes,” Mollie telegraphed back in the same tense whisper.  “It’s got its back to us, I think.”

“Good,” said Betty softly, adding as she threw all her weight against her oar, “now let’s keep still and work.”

It was queer how they referred to that presence at the head of the falls as “It.”  Some way, in the weird moonlight, under the more than unusual circumstances, it seemed almost impossible to give the thing a name.