"Please don't," begged Julia. This objection brought forth a perfect volley of cynicism.
Finally, Cleo took up one oar, and Margaret the other, and they proceeded in the direction of the floating propellers. As they passed the boy's boat, the girls spoke loudly of "some one losing his oars," but even this did not arouse him.
"Maybe we'll have to row him home," said Grace. "He doesn't look as if he cared much whether he ever gets back to land or not."
It took but a few moments to get his oars, and again the girls turned up stream.
"Who is going to give them to him," asked Louise, with a foolish giggle.
"We are noble scouts—we are!" mocked Cleo. "Mine be the task! A-hem!" and here a fit of laughter spoiled the proposed effect.
"Here are your oars!" called Grace, before the others could realize what she was about. But no boy answered.
"Say!" yelled Margaret, taking courage from Grace. "Say, boy! Here are your oars!" Still no answer.
Louise took an oar and gave the drifting boat a vigorous shove.
At this the boy did look up, and for a moment he seemed to comprehend; then he jumped up so suddenly he toppled over into the water between the two boats!