"How do you know?" Molly's voice showed her surprise.
"By his step, of course. Hello, Mr. Hibbs!"
Smiling and genial, the Scout Master bustled out to the end of the pier.
"Caught a glimpse of you down here; so I thought I would stroll over and see you set sail. Better stick to that bay over there by Magoon's, Molly. It is a nice, level beach, not higher than your chin anywhere. Ready for the football game this afternoon, Rodman?"
"I am as ready as I'll ever be, sir," the boy returned slowly.
Horace Hibbs laughed. "We can't all make the team. You will have your chance some day. All ready, Molly? Lee-board set? I'll give you an easy start, and in a second or two you will be under way."
In no time at all, it seemed to Rodman, the sail had filled, and the canoe was slipping over the surface as gracefully and with as little effort as a swan floating downstream.
"All you have to do," Molly told him, "is to sit still and let me manage the boat. I am a very good sailor."
For the second time that morning, Rodman laughed. "You may be a very good sailor, but you're not a very old sailor."