“Easy, boys, easy,” cautioned Gerald.  “There are three miles of it, you know.”

The three boats were all together.  Alton a bit in the lead, but without any daylight showing between them.  The Uncas last, but still in the race.

“Shure, ’tis foine, ye’r doing,” cried Gerald.  “Ye have thim all scared.  See how they are running away from ye!”

For the first mile there was no change, Alton still leading, but the pace was telling, and Highpoint was creeping up—­Uncas still in the rear.

In the next mile there was still no change in the order, and it looked like Alton’s race, but as the second mile was passed Highpoint poked its nose in front, Uncas still hugging them.  “Now, then!” cried Gerald, as they entered on the last half mile, “hit it up, boys; we are still in it!”

“The mascot’s working overtime,” panted Dick, “but he’s making good.”

The boys quickened their stroke in response to Gerald’s call, and inch by inch, the Uncas pulled up on their rivals and, just as the finish was reached, slid across the line a scant six inches in front.  It was only six inches, but enough, and though the boys could scarce sit up, their fatigue was forgotten in the joy of the unexpected victory.

“Tra-la-la,” trilled Gerald on his bugle, but its notes were drowned by the call of the leader of the Highpoints for three cheers for the Uncas, which were given with a will by both the losing crews.

After cheering each other, until they were hoarse, the three crews went their ways with an agreement to row another race later in the season.

“That’s one for the mascot,” drawled Rand, when the boat had been rowed to the landing, where the colonel, with Pepper and others, were waiting for them.

“Well, boys,” said the colonel, after he had congratulated them on their victory, “you look as if you had been doing a day’s work on a farm.”

“Well, I don’t know,” responded Rand.  “It was hard work, but I think, after all, I had rather be the man with the row than the man with the hoe.”

“That reminds me—­” began Dick.

“It does, eh?” questioned Donald.  “Well, I don’t know why, I am sure.”

“That, speaking of roses—­” went on Dick.

“Roses!” ejaculated Jack.  “Who said anything about roses?”

“Well, talking about roses, anyhow—­” continued Dick.

“I don’t see anything about here to remind you of roses,” contended Donald.

“Can you tell me,” persisted Dick, “what kind of rows never come singly?”

“The kind you have to hoe,” responded Donald, whose father had a garden.

“I guess that’s right, Don,” agreed the colonel

“Shad roes,” proclaimed Dick.

“Pooh!” sniffed Don; “that has an ancient and fishlike flavor.”

“Which reminds me,” remarked the colonel, “that I provided some refreshments, as a consolation for your defeat, but as you won I suppose you won’t care for them now.”