"Where's Rex now," queried Anton, "down in our old boat?"
"Yes, he's down there, keeping watch, good old scout," answered Ross. "He ought to be satisfied now, he certainly made fuss enough to bring me here. But, look here, Anton, how are we going to get you out? You don't swim."
"No," answered his chum mournfully, "I can't swim."
"If there was room enough down that stair," said Ross, thoughtfully, "I could take you on my back, but we'd never get through that door, and the window would be even worse."
"I'd been thinking of that," Anton answered. "I wondered how Dad would get me when he found out that I wasn't with Uncle Jack and came for me. So I made a long rope out of strips of my sheets."
"What's the good of that?"
"Well," said the younger boy, "I was wondering if I couldn't get out of the window. My arms are awful strong, you know, Ross."
"Yes," the other agreed, "you've plenty of muscle there."
"I thought if I could drop that line out of the window, Dad could grab it and hold the boat there. Then I could chuck down Lassie and the pups in a basket—I've got the basket—and slide down the rope of sheets into the boat."
Ross thought for a minute.