Quickly they rowed alongside. Then to his great sorrow Robert perceived the malicious injury which his enemy had wrought.
"Oh, Mr. Dunham, look at that!" he said, struck with grief. "The boat is spoiled!"
"Not so bad as that. It can be mended."
"What will Will Paine say? What will his father say?"
"Then it isn't your boat?"
"No, that is the worst of it. It was lent me by Will Paine, and I promised to take such good care of it."
"It isn't your fault, Robert?"
"No, I couldn't help it, but still it wouldn't have happened if it had not been in my charge."
"You can get it repaired, so that it will look almost as well as new."
If Robert had had plenty of money, this suggestion would have comforted him, but it will be remembered that he was almost penniless, dependent on the fish he caught for the means of supporting his mother and himself. Now this resource was cut off. The boat couldn't be used until it was repaired. He felt morally bound to get it repaired, though he was guiltless of the damage. But how could he even do this? One thing was clear—Mr. Paine must at once be informed of the injury suffered by the boat. Robert shrank from informing him, but he knew it to be his duty, and he was too brave to put it off.