Oscar unlocked his boat, turned it right-side up with his companion's assistance, and pushed it into the water.
Here again Leon's description was at fault. Oscar's craft was not a "leaky old scow"; it was a light, easy-running skiff. As he had built it himself, of course it was not as finely modelled as some of Mr. Peck's costly boats, but it answered the purpose for which it was intended.
Leon had seen it come up to Mr. Peck's wharf almost filled with wild ducks. It had more than once beaten his nice little boat in a fair race up the river from Squaw Island.
It was named after Sam's sister Katie, the prettiest girl in the village, who seemed to prefer Oscar's company to Leon's; and perhaps these were the reasons why the latter could not speak well of it.
The skiff having been launched, the sail was put into it.
The game-bags were stowed away in a little locker in the bow, the guns were carefully loaded and put in their proper places—one in the stern and the other on the midship thwart—and then Sam shipped the rudder, while Oscar got out the oars and rowed away into the fog.
In five minutes Mr. Peck's wharf and boat-house were out of sight, and the boys found themselves enveloped in a cloud which concealed everything that was more than twenty yards distant from their boat.
"How will this do, Sam?" said Oscar, resting on his oars.
"Do you hear that?" asked his companion, in reply. "I think we had better go a little further out."