me.
“Mercy!” she exclaimed; “has anything happened?”
“Happened!” I gasped.
“Look here,” cried the boarder, clutching me by the arm, “what a condition you're in. Did you fall in?”
“Fall in!” said I.
Euphemia and the boarder looked at each other. I looked at them. Then I opened my mouth in earnest.
“I suppose you don't know,” I yelled, “that you have drifted away!”
“By George!” cried the boarder, and in two bounds he was on deck.
Dirty as I was, Euphemia fell into my arms. I told her all. She hadn't known a bit of it!
The boat had so gently drifted off, and had so gently grounded among the reeds, that the voyage had never so much as disturbed their games of checkers.
“He plays such a splendid game,” Euphemia sobbed, “and just as you came, I thought I was going to beat him. I had two kings and two pieces on the next to last row, and you are nearly drowned. You'll get your death of cold—and—and he had only one king.”
She led me away and I undressed and washed myself and put on my Sunday clothes.
When I reappeared I went out on deck with Euphemia. The boarder was there, standing by the petunia bed. His arms were folded and he was thinking profoundly. As we approached, he turned toward us.
“You were right about that anchor,” he said, “I should not have hauled it in; but it was such a little anchor that I thought it would be of more use on board as a garden hoe.”
“A very little anchor will sometimes do very well,” said I, cuttingly, “when it is hooked around a tree.”
“Yes, there is something in that,” said he.
It was now growing
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