"About got aground, I should say," replied John, a good deal more astonished than he had calculated Paul would be.
"Let go your sheets! Take the boat hook, and let us push her off, if we can," cried Paul.
Both the boys went to work, and after a few moments of hard labor, succeeded in pushing the Fawn off the ledge upon which she had struck.
"I suppose this is a specimen of your management," said Paul, as he hauled the sheets home, and seated himself at the helm.
"Rather bad management, I am willing to own," replied John, who felt that his reputation as a skilful navigator had departed in the twinkling of an eye.
"Next time, when you undertake to sail the Fawn without me, don't you do it. You would be a pretty fellow to run the boat if I were away a week; there wouldn't be a board left on her ribs in three days."
"It hasn't hurt her any, Paul."
"I suppose it hasn't; but it would have been just the same if it had been blowing a ten-knot breeze."
But John felt that, if it hadn't hurt the Fawn any, it had hurt himself a great deal; and he made a tremendous great resolution to be more careful in the future. The boat reached her mooring in good season, notwithstanding the detention.