“Anyhow the boat’s gasolene circulation seems to be wrong,” went on Blake. “It runs backwards like a crab, instead of forward. So I guess we shall have to take to the oars. We have sent for a boat-doctor.”
“I’d like to row,” ventured Natalie.
“My canoe holds two very nicely,” put in Blake, quickly.
“And it’s as wabbley as a fellow just learning to skate,” declared Jack. “Come with me, Nat, in my good old tub.”
“After the gallant manner in which I saved her from the clutches of the law? I guess not,” exclaimed Blake. “You’ll come canoeing, won’t you, Natalie?”
“I think so—for a little while,” she promised.
The others paired off somehow, and soon a little flotilla of boats was slowly moving along the shady side of the lake. The occupants talked of many things, chiefly of the visit of the constable.
“Where do you suppose the Gypsy camp could be?” asked Mabel, calling to Blake, near whose canoe she and Jack were, in a rowboat.
“It might be almost anywhere,” he answered. “We’ll see Jackson to-morrow, and ask if he has learned anything.”
“Do you think this Hadee could possibly be the same one?” went on the girl whose mother’s ring had been taken.