"Do you think she broke away?" asked Leo.
"Pshaw! The Jolly Pioneer isn't a pony!" impatiently answered Jack.
"But the rope might have snapped," said Jim.
"No: the boat has been stolen," muttered Bob, gloomily.
"I don't believe that," continued Jim. "Perhaps some of the fellows around have hidden her, just to plague us."
"I bet it was those Jenkins boys!" declared Jack. "Don't you remember, Rob, how we made them stop badgering little Tommy Casey in the school-yard the other day, and how mad they were about it?"
"Yes, and they swore they'd be even with us," answered Rob.
The Jenkins boys were the children of a drunken father, a slatternly mother. Brought up in a comfortless, poverty-stricken home, without any religious teaching or influences, what wonder that they became addicted to most of the petty vices,—that they acquired an unenviable reputation for mischief, mendacity, and thieving in a small way?
Jack's inference could hardly be called a rash judgment. A glimpse of a derisive, grinning face among the neighboring bushes confirmed his suspicions. Without a word he made a dash toward the thicket. His companions understood, however, and were not slow to follow his example. There was a crackling of the brambles, succeeded by a stampede. Jack, with all his alertness, had not been quite quick enough. With a jeering whoop, two shabby figures escaped into the road.
"The question is, where's the boat?" said Rob, as the party paused for breath, finding that pursuit was useless.