Charlie had not thought of it that way before.
“I guess you are right, teacher.”
Bidding her good-bye, he was moving off, when she said: “Stop one moment. Whoever that boy is, I wish you’d get him out to Sunday-school.”
“What an idea!” thought Charlie. “Tim Tyler’s going to Sunday-school!”
In the meantime Wort had been prosecuting his bold investigations. He strolled down the lane, passing several cottages, and then a fish-house, where several men were splitting and salting fish. All these were on the left side of the lane. On the right was a long dock, and in it were several boats.
“There is Tim Tyler,” exclaimed Wort, “and there is his boat. There is young Tim, the thief!”
It was an old boat that Wort looked into as he stood upon the stairs leading down into the dock. It was a boat badly battered, like its owner.
“If the red paint could be got off Tim’s nose and put on his boat, it would be better for both,” thought Wort.
Old Tim was fixing a net in the stem of his boat. Young Tim was in another part of the dock, hunting amid the muddy flats for relics.
“There she is!” said Wort to himself. He had detected a dipper in the bottom of the boat. “Now is my chance,” thought Wort. He reached down to the coveted dipper. It was a venerable piece of tinware.