"I never get enough pie," stammered Ward. "I thought you wouldn't mind. I won't touch the sandwiches and milk—you can have 'em all."
It was impossible to be long angry with Ward and of course he had his share of the rest of the food. Ward dearly loved to eat, and those pies had been too much for him—at home his mother kept the cookie and cake and pie cans securely locked, lest he be tempted too severely.
At Artie's suggestion they washed the dishes—after a fashion—and then hurried back to the beach. It was then only eleven o'clock and the prospect of a long afternoon was entrancing. Artie ran ahead to see if the raft was still afloat.
"It's gone!" they heard him shout. "Boys, the raft is gone! Somebody's stolen our raft! What do you know about that?"
"And it's Mrs. Meeker's fence, too," Ward muttered, fear-stricken. "What shall we do?"
A BIT OF GOOD FORTUNE
Ward said the rope must have broken and Fred thought perhaps the raft had sunk, but nothing would convince Artie that his raft was not stolen.